To Live is to Dance, Despite Storm Clouds A-Rumbling
by Romantic Nerd
Summary: Society's forces of oppression build as William and Julia face tests of their relationship while working to solve a crime amidst the backdrop of the evils and hardships of 1900s racism. Can William's minstrel suspect help them to grasp that what is most precious in life is to come to revel in being who you are, and to take joy in sharing a true love that celebrates that very fact?
1. Chapter 1

"To Live is to Dance, Despite Storm Clouds A-Rumbling"

Society's forces of oppression build as William and Julia face devastating tests of their relationship while they work to solve a crime. This story takes place amidst the backdrop of the evils and hardships of racism as experienced through the minstrels of the early 1900s. It takes us with the couple as they journey to learn that to be alive is to be true to your nature, and that it is the same with true love, for true love is to love another _FOR_ their nature, not despite of it, come what may. You are invited to come along as we see whether William's suspect can help them to grasp that the real treasure in life is to come to revel in being who you are, to take joy in being loved for who you are if you are that fortunate, and to cherish loving another for who they are if granted the chance… and that _THIS_ is what is most precious in all of life?

It was the night of big affair, of the big to-do dinner being held by the Chair of the Surgery Department of her University. Being the only woman on the faculty, Julia wondered to herself whether William would find himself oddly one of the ' _wives'_ pulled off to the side, bored with the detailed medical talk of herself and the other professors. She had left the morgue early to come home and dress for the event. Now, she found herself standing in front of her closet full of gowns, primped and ready for the outer shell, feeling gorgeous and sexy in merely her corset and stockings. Her eyes settled, made their subconscious choice… And her heart thumped as she said it to herself in her mind in a sultry whisper, " _The black one_."

Oh, she was most surely tempted to put on _**THAT**_ dress, the _**one**_ that made him soupy in the brain, and so lusciously soared him in the groin. The _**one**_ that made him jealous. The one that might get his attention, might bring him back to her.

She felt it at first as a frown, a frown above the threat of tears, and she decided not. _No… It would not be_ _ **that**_ _one._ But, my God, it hit her so hard in that moment, _she missed him, she missed him so. Could it be that she had done the one thing they could not heal from?_

She reached to stroke at the tender skin at the suprasternal notch of her neck. _She would wear the rainbow necklace_ , she knew it then, the one he had adhered to their bedroom wall where the sunlight sparkled and glowed through the blinds at morning's first light each day, each day of the hardest times, when she had been lost in the darkness of having had miscarried their unborn child. He had placed it there for her to see, _when she was ready,_ that even through the darkest of storms there could be hope. She chose a newer dress, one that also showed off her figure, but did so with enough elegance to escape scandal.

The front door sounded downstairs, followed by the gleeful pitter-pattering of children's feet rushing to leap into their father's arms. She could see the joyful scene in her mind, in her memory, and it made her smile and her heart warm with a glow that could soothe the world. The moment dissipated as she heard herself sigh, and the burn of tears again threatened behind her eyes. " _He's home a bit late_ ," she thought to herself as she tried to find something to attach to in the immediate world, something _else_ to distract her from the hurt she felt looming with the threat it could drop her. She realized, with the simple, fact-based thought, that _she had been worried, worried that he was punishing her still, that he was not going to go, that he might not come home at all._ And now aware of her own unconscious fear, she had an explanation for why she felt so knee-weakeningly relieved to hear him arrive, to hear him greet their beautiful children down in the foyer, and then to straightaway head up the stairs, to softly open their bedroom door, and now to see him standing there before her.

William's eyes darkened and widened, in a delightfully notable way, as he took in the sight of his wife, her shapely form, her beauty, in her evening dress. Her supple and ample curves, her pink and cream skin, her big, pale-blue eyes, such breathtaking magnetism, such that sometimes it struck him like a lightning bolt, had drawn his attention, and so he had missed it – _the rainbow crystals that revealed her deepest wishes to be close with him again_ , hinting from above her cleavage.

Fleeting, however, was his aroused and wanting look, for he remembered what it was that he had to tell her, and his heart bumped with a heavy sinking. He took a deep breath and said it plain, "I'm _not_ planning on going, Julia."

Disappointed, her mouth tightened sourly. Unfortunately it was unavoidable, the bitterness that sounded in her tone as she answered him, "I must admit, I had thought better of you." And with that, Julia poked her chin up high into the air, and she turned on her heal, and she headed for the door.

William's head spun and dizzied with a wallop of sudden panic. His voice sounded from behind her as she marched away, his words a bit rushed in an effort to save, to correct, to minimize the damage done. "Julia…" _he paused her heart in her chest, he caught her,_ "I will go."

Her motion stopped, and from behind he watched her breathe and re-steady herself. She turned back to him, smiled, and then approached. _Close to him, close enough to set off a physical reaction, a tingling and a warmth that was both familiar and exciting,_ she stopped. A swallow first, a shy glance, "Thank you, William," she said.

"Shall I wear a particular suit?" he asked her, _pushing the lure to temptation away, taking to the matter at hand in its stead._ Clarifying he added, "Is there one you'd prefer?"

 _The dryness in his tone had betrayed to her that her seductions had moved him, and in knowing it, her insides stirred in that delicious way that both melted and surged her at the same time._

"I think perhaps the brown one – it will go well with my dress…" she replied, her mood tantalizingly erotic as she wiggled, sultry, at him, and tucked her pink cheek down towards her creamy bare and sumptuous shoulder, and she added, "And the warm chocolate color does something so delightful with your eyes, detective."

He huffed, annoyed at her flirtation while things were so strained between them, his disapproving look checking her. _She had gone too far._

"Sorry," she quickly conceded.

 _You see, William had discovered that Julia had been risking teaching certain things, certain illegal things, in her University classes. He learned of this when he found her research on her desk. She had been conducting a secret study on a new method to safely block pregnancy by implanting a copper device inside the womb, to stop fertilized eggs from adhering to the uterine lining – an idea that had been stimulated by her thoughts about the scarring in her own womb from her own near-fatal abortion all those years ago, and its resulting, (nearly – it had turned out to their mutual joy), in her sterility. Upon confronting her about it, he learned that there was even more. Julia had taught her University students how to perform tubal ligations, thus permanently stopping women who secretly requested the procedure from being able to bear children. And worst of all, astoundingly terrifying to him, she had been teaching her students how to perform safe abortions. All of this had been going on behind his back. Shocked, furious, betrayed to find that she would risk so much, that she had already risked so much, now he battled with the distasteful feeling that he could not trust her, as she furied, indignant, that he was trying to control her, just like Darcy had done. And as a result, they were at a stalemate, wholly and thoroughly stuck, stuck apart, and they had been so for over a week._


	2. 2: to be Caught in Your Lover's Eyes

Chapter 2: To Live is to be Caught in Your Lover's Eyes

Heavenly, dizzying, William and Julia's intermittently exchanged stolen glances at each other from across the Fenwick's large living room. They had already made quite an entrance, arriving at their host's front door late – unfashionably so, and with Millicent Fenwick greeting them at the door as if they were all up on the Broadway stage. Julia had hurried to apologize for their being late, but she had barely gotten her words out when Millicent Fenwick began to fawn blatantly all over her, admittedly gorgeous, husband.

"I hope it wasn't one of those dangerous police chases…" the attractive middle-aged woman had said, starry-eyed, offering her hand for William to take, "with you, detective, risking your life for us all again."

Gratefully, and despite their being in the midst of one of the biggest arguments they as a couple had ever experienced, William had made it perfectly clear to all those watching the scene unfold that he adored his wife, and that he would not be returning any flirting that evening. It had taken Julia by surprise, his so sweetly tucking her arm into his, and then responding to the flirtatious hostess that his excuse was, "much less dramatic than that," simply that he had, "once again become over-involved in the details of a case."

Julia had tried to let herself bask in the lovely sensation of having William remain uncharacteristically close to her as they were paraded in to join the others, but there had been an inner battle about it. She was all too aware of the fact that her actions in teaching her students about methods of contraception, and worse, her even conducting a secret study on an innovative means of contraception with them, and further, her teaching them how to perform safe abortions, had all been discovered by William over a week ago. She couldn't help but feel that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the two of them had not found a way out of the rut they found themselves in now in the wake of all that.

And now, even more unexpected considering their current rift, after Julia had been absconded into the 'professor' group of men off to one side of the big room, and William had been whisked off to the other side of the room with the wives, she had just risked another glance his way. With her heart still racing from mere moments earlier when she had sensed William sneaking a glance at her, she had dared another look.

And, coming suddenly from out of nowhere, Millicent Fenwick startled her into a jump, saying to her with a whisper, "Your detective is such a strikingly handsome man, Julia. It always catches my breath, the sight of him, his build, those eyes of his."

"That he is," Julia replied, impressed with her own recovery.

And then as fate would have it, Tom Cunningham stepped over to the two of them, lighting Julia's cigar for her. "You look ravishing my dear…" her colleague drooled…

The use of the term ' _dear'_ infuriating her to the marrow in her bones.

And then the man's eyes strayed downward. "Absolutely ravishing," he added lecherously…

Julia felt William's eyes on them, and a part of her rejoiced at knowing he would see another man wanting her.

And William, off on the other side of the large room, felt his jaw battling between dropping and clenching. " _She does look quite beautiful tonight,_ " he agreed somewhere in the back of his mind, sounding so unexpectedly calm and rational, and then there was a pang of hurt, just after his regret, for he had remembered their fighting, and he had remembered _why_ he had not told her how beautiful she is, and how much he loved her. And, with William somewhat lost in his thoughts, his wife left on the arm of that rather salacious man for the billiards room, and he found himself paused there for a moment disturbed by the rageful stirrings of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. There was an air of hypocrisy to it he told himself – ' _I won't admire you and adore you and love you because you kept a dangerous secret from me, because you betrayed me, but I don't want anyone else to do so either."_ And a sick possessiveness filled him… _for she was HIS_ , that had been the thought accompanying the fire, and even deeper, under his fury, there was his fear that she was not satisfied with him, that he might not be good enough for her, and the feeling only served to nauseate him further.

William, followed by all the wives, trailed along behind the men and Julia who had agreed to play a few rounds of billiards before dinner. _Billiard's was a toff's game_ , he found himself thinking, _he shouldn't be surprised that she would excel at it._ He stood on the sidelines and watched her. _She was incredible_. She talked medical procedures with her fellow professors while they played – smoking a cigar of all things, with a sip, here and there, at her brandy. The men were caught in her gravitational field as much as he was, all eyes to her, listening, marveling, while two of the professors took shots with their snooker sticks at the big, fancy billiard's table.

Her eyes suddenly found his over the rim of her brandy glass. _"Caught!"_ his heart screamed at him from inside his chest, _he was caught_ , admiring her from afar. Boldly however, he held his eyes to hers from across the public space.

 _So cocky, so subtle, his bow, his small nod to her._

And William thought to himself about _all those years ago when he had fallen in love with this beautiful, astounding, spicy, rebellious, remarkable woman._ And a memory played in his head, of him sitting with the clairvoyant, Miss Pensell, on a park bench, recovering from having had been shot by an arrow so very close to his heart, and she had asked him, with a suggestive tone, " _Oh yes, Dr. Ogden. You speak often of her. What exactly is your relationship with Dr. Ogden?"_ He remembered not even squirming before he answered her, " _We work well together. She's a brilliant pathologist. She's well-educated, quite witty at times. And… and she's kind. Bold. Stubborn. And quite beautiful."_ He had been so exposed, so obviously head-over-heels in love, and it was so very clear to him now that Julia had stolen his heart. And he knew then, and he felt it bumping into him now, that he would always love this woman, for Julia Ogden was fiery, and fiercely brave and generous, and defiant, and yes, stubborn, and it was that lightning-striking, catalystic part of her, as much as any other part of her, that he loved so much that his heart wholly ached with the implosion of it.

She approached him from the other side of the big game table, and he tugged at the edges of his jacket with memories flashing of _her in that red-velvet dress that magical night, the century turning almost as eagerly as his heart had been_. Their entangled auras vibrated, resonated with the perfect pitch of their inner tuning-forks. She would speak first, they both knew. "Thank you for coming, William," she said, stepping to stand at his side, her one and only voice in his ear.

"I never should have planned to do otherwise," he admitted with that characteristic pinch at the corner of his mouth. _Astutely aware that they were in a public setting_ , he cleared his throat battling with being this intimate when they were not alone, and he said, "I find myself remembering when you were jailed down in our cells…" an awkward shift, he ducked his head down, and then pushed on, "You had been arrested for…"

"I know," she spared him.

He smiled briefly, "And Darcy was out of town," a deep breath, for it was much too similar between the two of them now.

"William," _her voice had that sageful, safe tone that always reminded him of home_ , "You wisely said once that we are very different people… Remember, after… after we lost… after I lost, Mary Susana, and we had had such a big fight in the hospital. You were most assuredly right about that, about our being different. But you also said that, each day, being married to me, has been your happiest." She stopped there, leaving it open, waiting…

Interminable, the time hovering and humming, hope, just there. He would give, however his sigh told it would not be euphoria, merely a step. "It is still true," he swallowed confessing it, "But…" and he leaned closer to her to whisper, for this, _this_ , had to be kept a secret between them, "still I must request that you stop, Julia. I'm sorry, but I must." And instantly, he knew _they could not have this conversation HERE, and he wondered at himself for starting it, and he tried to tell himself it was because he was under so much pressure, unbearable going through each moment without being aligned with her. And he wished, he wished so hard that the world around him seemed to spin and plummet, that they would just stop… stop, and without saying it decide, agree, to talk it through later. But it was too late,_ he knew, _for Julia had jutted her chin up in the air._

"As did Darcy," she jabbed, "You're no better than he was, William. No better."

 _Oh, he wanted to argue it,_ to explain that it was his _fear_ that was driving his resistance, his request that she stop. _"It_ _ **IS**_ _different…!"_ his brain screamed the assertion inside his head, as she turned and walked away from him, _"It's different Julia. Please, please understand it is fear, terrifying fear, of losing you, not a desire to control you, that makes me ask it. Please, can't you see…"_ he pleaded silently, unheard anywhere but inside of his head.

"I'd like to lay the next challenge," Julia announced to the field.

The wives at the edges gasped. _Could it be that this woman was so bold as to play billiards? Was it not enough that she smoked and drank like a man, now she would play snooker like one too?_

Julia's opponent, _William knew him, knew he was a professor of surgery at the University named Sean Manning,_ broke to start the game by smashing the white 'cue ball' into the triangular patch of colorful balls, " _dropping three balls into the holes_ ," William noted, not yet knowing they were called 'pockets,' " _two striped ones with the higher numbers and one solid orange one, a 5."_

Studying as Julia's and Manning's game progressed, William detected one of Manning's early mistakes right away. Manning had missed the shot because the striped brown ball that he had targeted struck the edge of another ball, and thus missed the intended hole completely, ricocheting off of the velvety billiards table rim and smashing back into the colorful mixture, bouncing billiards balls all about. William's eye for detail had noticed, _Manning's stick tip had contacted the cue ball off to the side rather than in the center, putting an inadvertent spin on the ball…_

Before he could prepare for it, his wife, in her tight-in-all-the-right-places dress, leaned down over the billiards table, eyeing up her shot. William's heart pounded so hard in is chest he felt feint. _She looked SEXY_ , and immediately his groin jolted to alert, and just as quickly he panicked with knowing _the other men in the room would have the same reaction._ William's eyes jumped to check the men behind her, one of them that Tom Cunningham. _Wham, a tidal wave of blind anger flooded through him._ " _ **They were ogling Julia's behind!"**_ Clenched fists, gritted jaw, so much so that he risked chipping a tooth, he managed to stop his attack, to force a shallow breath. William cleared his throat and stared the two men down. A simple nod – _they had agreed to behave_. Then, glancing down at his wife taking her shot in front of him, he noticed, and blushed instantly, that _her cleavage, too, could drop a man to his knees, that is if the man was on this side of the table._ And William believed in that moment, his own eyes stuck down there in that creamy, squishy flesh, that there would be no man on Earth who could control himself adequately to manage _not_ to look.

By the time Julia got her next turn, William had managed to corral all of the men in the room into holding their eyes up and off of his wife's shapely body while she took her shots, Julia stretching that luscious body out, all over that hard, flat surface of the billiard's table, time and time again. William released a sigh of relief when her game was finally over. He would never admit it to her, but he was glad she had lost her match with Manning, for it meant that she would not be playing again anytime soon.

His relief, however, was short lived…

Julia returned her cue to the rack and turned towards her husband. And zoom, " _Oh,"_ the idea blossomed in her head, _"William would be absolutely fantastic at this game."_ And then the words flew out of her mouth, uncensored, unconsidered, "Actually Sean, I suggest we pair up with our spouses…"

Manning began to argue, "Darla most certainly has no experience playing snooker…"

"Well," Julia quickly retorted, "neither does William." She looked to her husband, who opened his arms and shrugged, and then berated himself in his head for admitting to being a novice, for it would mean they would play, and he, _very much, did NOT want to play this game with all these other men watching him, and with Julia continuing to lay herself out over the billiards table in that enticing way and…_

But then, piping it in from the sidelines, the voice dripping in snobbishness and arrogance and superiority, one of the men said, "I would expect not. He's just a copper after all. And I'm quite sure his… err, background, never afforded him the possibility to play…"

 _Sending William's blood to begin to boil… And… Uh oh, Julia's too…_

And another man inserted snootily, "Not so, old chap. I hear quite a few of the pool halls, those ill-begotten betting-houses in the rougher parts of town, have put in billiards tables for the seedy men to use while awaiting the race results." He added, "They are actually calling them " _ **pool**_ _tables_ ," um, or so I have been told."

Julia huffed and took a big, big inhalation, readying to blast the toffee-nosed men for their insulting and incorrigible implications about her husband, for it was downright infuriating of them to jump to such derogatory conclusions about a good and brilliant man such as William Henry Murdoch simply because of his class…

And then quickly, way too quickly, " _Sean_ " had agreed to a rematch, stopping the confrontation that was surely brewing.

Grateful to be focused on the match instead of telling her colleagues off, Julia told herself to calm down and she pulled William over to the side, where she whispered to him, "You've been watching, William…:

He nodded. _So gorgeous, his eyes._

Julia went on, "Well, knowing you as I do, I'd say you are already probably an expert at billiards."

He pinched his lips together, _there was a compliment in there somewhere._ "But…" he ventured to explain, "I was, um, well let's just say that I was distracted, Julia."

She sensed a scolding air in his tone, and her reaction to it was to dip her chin down and give him an admonishing look of her own. "Distracted…?" she questioned, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Julia…" he rallied to his own defense, "When you bend down over that table…" But then he stammered, for William found he simply couldn't find a way to actually say _it_. Instead, he took a deep breath. "To the matter at hand," he changed the subject, another deep breath, averting his attention to the billiards table, "Every solid-colored ball has a different color, and every striped ball in increasing order uses the same color as the corresponding solid ball…"

Julia blinked once, _her mind warning her that she should have expected this…_

William continued his dissertation on the balls that are in involved in the game, "For instance, the solid 1-ball and the striped 9-ball are both yellow, and the colors of the other balls match as the numbers increase. Further…"

 _He seemed not to notice Julia's sigh…_

"If you add 8 to any solid number, and 8, of course is the number of the black ball that is central to the whole game, you get the corresponding number of the striped ball of the same color. For example, the yellow 9 is 8 more than the yellow 1, and the striped blue ball's 10 is 8 more than the solid blue ball's 2, etc.," he elaborated.

"William…" Julia tried to stop him…

William's eyes danced and sparkled, totally mesmerized by the balls on the table, sharing with her his keen observations with boyish glee. "Julia," he excitedly whispered, seeming to want to confide in her, "did you notice that if you add the numbers of the balls of the same colors, the sums are increasing even numbers: 1+9= **10** , 2+10= **12** , 3+11= **14** , 4+12= **16** …"

"William!" finally her whispered yell drew him out of his mathematical daze, "What I meant was that I was sure that you had already figured out the rules of the game… that you already knew how to play it."

"Oh…" he admitted, _thumping her heart with his sheepish look of apology_. "Yes," he said, "Yes, I do."

"Good," she quickly replied, knowing him well enough not to need to check to see if he truly had grasped how to play. She took him by the hand and tugged him along with her to the billiards table.

"Agreed that the winner breaks," Julia began, bartering for as much advantage as possible, "But, in fairness, shall we say that the beginners shoot first?"

Manning agreed with hesitation, eyeing up William. It seemed to William that Manning was worried. The man seemed to be quite competitive by nature, and William ascertained that he probably anticipated a challenge ahead.

Poor Darla Manning was even less capable than seemed possible at playing snooker, not even touching one of the triangularly racked balls with the cue ball when she attempted to break to start the match. The rather elegant and graceful woman had utterly refused to bend down over the table to take the shot as she had observed Julia doing earlier, instead taking her shot standing up completely erect. It was a style she adhered to throughout the rest of their match, despite her husband's relentless urging for her to do otherwise.

With the first team missing the balls altogether on their try, it meant that now William, as the beginner on his team, would have a chance at the beginning break. All eyes turned to him. His lips pinched together, and he nodded to no one in particular, and then he slipped off his suit jacket, as he had seen Sean Manning do before he had begun to shoot. He handed the jacket off to Julia and selected a cue stick. _"Guess it's time to show your mettle, William,"_ he encouraged himself.

Watching with bated breath from the side of the table, Julia subconsciously bounced up onto her tippy-toes with delight as William's breaking shot sent the white cue ball thundering into the racked-up colored display of balls, exploding it with a cacophony of cracks and pops and smacks as the multiple chain reactions of ball, crashing into ball, crashing into ball, rippled throughout the billiards room. Some wondered if Manning would protest Julia's claim that her husband had never played this game before, but he held his tongue.

 _Adorable,_ William's little shrug and hint of embarrassment at his success. Julia moved over to stand at his side, tucking her arm into his and giving him a happy squeeze. Keeping their voices low to be clandestine, they planned and schemed. Julia whispered to him, "You got more solids than stripes. Shall we call solids?"

She could tell from his voice that William was having fun. "Possibly…" he placated.

It was apparent to Julia that her genius husband had already envisioned all the possible outcomes from the current arrangement of balls on the table. The tingling of her, still-after-all-these-years, amazingly passionate crush on this man hummed in her heart – and spilled down deeper as well. It was entirely thrilling. "Do you think you see a run, William?" she asked him, leaning even closer to guard their secret.

"Mm," his answer.

"I knew you would take to this," she declared, and then marveled as she asked, "Have you envisioned it? Do you know which ball you want to start with, where the cue ball will settle on the table after the shot, so it is aligned with the next ball… for your next shot?"

Heavenly, those big of eyes of his holding to hers, then, _so winsome_ , his slow but certain nod.

"Don't forget to call which ball into which pocket before you shoot. Sean will be on the lookout for such a rookie mistake," she warned as William stepped away from her to take his first shot.

"We call stripes," he said plainly, then visually lined-up the white cue ball with the 10-ball. He stood up a bit taller for a moment, then announced, "Ten-ball in the corner pocket." Unconsciously, he blew out some of the pressure through his pursed lips, and then bent down to set up the shot. _'Tick,_ ' the cue ball contacted the 10-ball perfectly, and all the men and women who were gathered around held their breath as the 10-ball rolled slowly down the long length of the table to drop out of sight with a ' _plunk_ ' as it sank into the called pocket.

"Wonderful William," Julia exclaimed, bouncing up onto her toes again.

He caught her eye and wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her. So much told with the familiar gesture – _he was pleased, he was afraid of appearing arrogant, and he felt a bit awkward under the gaze of so many._ A part of her wanted to giggle.

On to the next shot, William moved around to Julia's side of the table and leaned over preparing to take the shot. It was a long diagonal stretch-out over much of the table to reach, covering such a large expanse that only one of William's feet remained on the floor.

 _Oh, it took her by surprise_ , the sudden tugging of her womb at the sight of her husband's hunky derriere from that angle… _like that._ " _Oh my, it truly_ _ **IS**_ _ **distracting**_ ," she giggled to herself. A flash of a memory played of the _two of them sitting at their kitchen table, back before William Jr. had been born, and sharing with each other about the first time they had met. She had blushed bright-red at the time, mortified with embarrassment_ , but she had finally managed to tell him about a similar reaction from her back then as she had just had now, for back then _the first thing she had seen of_ _the 'bicycle detective' was his well-built behind as he stepped up into the police carriage_ , only to later be even more taken upon seeing the whole of him once she had arrived after him at the murder scene, officially meeting the love her life at the Clayton Bowles' family farm.

William almost ran the table, except that he scratched on the purple-striped 12-ball, accidentally also dropping the cue ball into a pocket on the shot. But he would learn from his mistakes, this one teaching him that he needed to be softer at times.

Finally up, Sean Manning made much of his first chance at the table, running four out of their seven solid balls. However, after that fourth shot, the cue ball settled in such a way that their remaining three balls were unmakeable. William's discerning mind made note of Manning's strategy in a situation such as this one. He considered it somewhat _"unsporting,"_ Manning choosing to pass the buck rather than to make a sincere effort at making a shot. Intentionally ' _missing_ ' his called ball all together, Manning purposely left the cue ball in an impossible place for Julia to make a shot at any of their striped balls either.

 _Marvelously_ , Julia found herself thinking, William pressed in from behind her _, uncharacteristically close for their being out together in public_ , and he spoke in her ear. "There's not a clear shot, hmm?" he said, "Every ball you need is blocked by another," he let her know he grasped the problem.

Julia allowed herself the pleasure of leaning back into him, _deeper_. She turned her cheek, reaching for his ear. "I was thinking I could…" But elsewhere in her mind, lingering, there were thoughts. _"Mmm, the scent of him… that Chinese spice and_ … _and… mmm…_ Deep in her brain her inner voice breathed his name, sultry and falling, " _William…"_ And then WHAM, she felt his breath on her, and her brain exploded with memories and fantasies and scrumptious imaginings of having him make love to her, _and oh_ , how she gasped with the wishing.

" _ **Focus Julia!"**_ a part of her yelled at herself.

She cleared her throat. "I um… I was thinking I could try for the green one, but I'm afraid the ricochet of the cue ball might…"

"It would knock the 8-ball into the corner pocket," William nodded, and she noticed, as his chin rubbed against the sensitive flesh of her ear, that he had grown a deliciously stubbly five-o'clock shadow, having rushed to change and not having the time to shave…

 _My God, she erupted inside, wanting with every fiber in her body to reach up and rub his stubbly, squared-off masculine jawline… and so much more…_

"Yes," she pushed herself to keep her urges harnessed, "We would risk losing," she added. Then, with a slightly impatient huff, _her brain sparking down the pathway towards remembering that it had been a long, long time since they had made love… and then abruptly remembering the reasons for the distressing uneasiness between them_ , she managed to bring herself back to concentrating on the match. Julia Ogden told herself that _she was also a pretty good billiards player in her own right,_ and unlike William, who had not had the opportunity to see any snooker experts handle this type of situation, she knew exactly they would do. " _The only choice here is a kick shot,"_ Julia sighed to herself, _"Kick shots are especially challenging."_ She took a deep breath, deep enough to border on a sigh.

"You have something?" William asked in her ear.

"I'll have to try to kick it," she replied, hurrying to explain to him, "To hit the cue ball into the side cushion of the table just right so that it bounces off and then hits the red 11-ball into the side pocket."

"Oh, I see," he said, "Quite intriguing."

Julia missed this shot, but there was a flame ignited in William. _William Murdoch quite liked the idea of these 'kick shots' and 'bank shots.' Yes indeed._ Not surprisingly, he took to them like each one of them was a new invention. It was great fun.

And unbeknownst to William and Julia, it just seemed that all of their troubles had evaporated away as they played this game together. And it was obvious to anyone near them that these two were madly in love with each other, a perfect match, a match made in heaven.

After their win, Julia encouraged William to play the next challenger himself while she took a break and mingled. Secretly, William was quite pleased when it turned out that it was Tom Cunningham who requested to take him on. The man's obvious fascination with his wife had riled him up in the past, and he was looking forward to the chance to put the debaucher in his place.

William suggested they adjust the rules and make the entire game consist of solely bank shots and kick shots.

Now for his part, Tom Cunningham had been watching the game Julia and her husband had just played, and so he was well aware that the detective had quite an affinity for these more challenging shots. He rejected the suggestion, not wanting to give Julia's husband the advantage in this public venue, and particularly with Julia herself watching.

Tom stepped back and watched the detective break to start the game. He felt a wave of relief, congratulating himself for managing to pay sufficient attention to know to decline the detective's suggestion. A sly smile grew on his face as he remembered that he had accomplished this _while also sneaking peaks at Julia while she took her shots. He had figured correctly, that the detective, who had actively blocked his sneaky pleasures earlier, had been distracted by playing his match, not seeming to notice the more dirty perusals going on._ Suddenly a thought hit him – _perhaps Julia would be sneaking peaks at him!_ Such a twinge of excitement at the thought. A breath first, to steady himself, to quiet himself so no one would notice. _He would chance a look her direction._ _Oh_ , but his heart sunk at what he saw, for the very lovely Julia Ogden was undeniably and wholly enamored by her _HUSBAND_ , sneaking peaks at _**the detective**_ while he took his shots. His own envy sickened him. _"Lots of other fish in the sea,"_ he told himself trying to quell the disappointment.

William ran the table, Tom never even getting a chance to take a shot. Before they could start up another match, it was announced that it was time to go in to have dinner.

The large group settled around an extravagant table to dine. Julia, seated diagonally on the opposite side of the table from her husband, was delighted to hear William telling the story of when he had mounted a white steed and roped a murder suspect escaping from the Wild West showgrounds. For his part, William felt her admiring eyes on him as he told it, and his heart sang in his chest to feel her longing for him, desiring him, wanting him, cherishing him, as she sometimes did.

Time after time, glances were stolen across that big, ostentatious, table, romance tingling. Julia wondered if she might _have missed it, but that perhaps her stiff and buttoned-up husband might have had a drink to be so… 'focused on romance,' in such a setting, and even more so unexpected, in the midst of their rather earth-shaking arguing_. Her thoughts drifted deeper, a memory of _him becoming obsessed with playing golf, and her stepping up to try a swing for the first time and smashing the ball so well that he had become jealous. Her beginner's luck had infuriating him so much that he, William Henry Murdoch, had taken to the ridiculous, irrational, act of chucking all of his fancy golf clubs into the pond_. She hadn't noticed for her being so lost in her fantasies and memories, but her fingers had made their way up to her neck and were tenderly stroking the colorful, smooth crystals of her rainbow necklace, her eyes glazed and open, down on her half-eaten plate of dinner. This necklace from when they had lost their unborn daughter, and William had given it to her to help her mend.

 _ **Swish and wham and flip and soar**_ , such a wallop of a force tugged at her, drawing her.

 _It was William, from across the table. He had looked to her._

 _She was captured…_

 _He was captured…_

They were together caught in their lovers' eyes. The flow of pure-white heat surging their essences upward, outward, reaching and striving for each other, extending them out of themselves, out into the wondrously delicious electromagnetic field between them, where it felt _floaty_ , and _light_ , and _tremendously powerful_ , _falling_ and _flying_ and _spiraling_ all at the same time. Memories… emotions… _shared and cherished_ , terribly, terribly painful and disastrously rapturous as well, flowed between them.

Darla's voice interfered with the magic from beside him.

"Your wife is a very beautiful woman," she said, finding herself drawn by the couple's powerful shared gaze.

William's eyes remained fixed to Julia's as he answered this outside woman's voice, his soul wishing to feel the remarkable connection _for just a bit longer_ , but the pull was lessening with the distraction. "Julia Ogden is…" and he felt the drop, for he realized there was no word that could truthfully say it, and as he endeavored to find one that might be closest, the force broke away, and Julia's beautiful eyes fell back down to her plate. He took a deep breath, surprised and not surprised to feel the burning of sorrow of missing her in his chest as he did so. William swallowed…

And Darla waited, herself taken by the strength radiating off of him, the power that had been resonating between these two lovers. She had read about them in the newspapers. The intensity between them was even more astounding than what the headlines all said. ' _Toronto's Favorite Couple_ … _' she understood why now_. A thought came to her, prompting her to speak, "But I dare say, detective…" she paused and chose more familiarity, "…William," Darla tilted closer, "It would take an incredible man to match her. And it seems to me that only you, only you in all the world over, are such a man."

And William blushed, for she had nailed the truth of it.

Then… someone asked Julia about her study…

 _Millicent, was it?_

The woman's voice announced a change of subject that would interest all. It seemed the whole table held their breath. "Dr. Ogden," the warning came, "my husband tells me you are being very **secretive** about this new study of yours. He figures you've invented something wonderful and are guarding it so no one else takes the idea and claims it for themselves."

 _Julia's heart raced._

 _William's heart raced._

A man's voice asked…

All eyes turning to William…

"So, William, has Julia been keeping _**you**_ as much in the dark about her big study as she has us?"

 _Panic struck!_

 _Absolute, utter, terrifying panic… and desperately working to handle it…_

If a pin had dropped, everyone, including the butler, would have heard it.

 _Time moving, brain not…_

And just like that, all the air had been sucked out of the room in an instant. The wonderful love affair, re-alighted between William and Julia had, out of the blue, fizzled and cracked and exploded and dissipated into smoke and haze and fogginess that clouded the judgment with a deluge of fear, fear of Julia's being caught. And at the very same time, that fear mingled with a deep and wrenching sadness for what the two of them had been suffering through, for the reality was so clear between them once again, that they had parted over this. So suddenly, both Julia and William, felt dangerously, dangerously apart, apart and lost.

William froze, _words would be hard to find within all of this emotion._

Julia prepared to interrupt, urgently trying to think of something to say to avert attention away from her study, and away from how much William knew about it…

William's voice surprised her.

"I think Julia intended, from the beginning, to keep this one to herself," William said, and then pinched his lips together admitting to feeling a bit left out by her decision to do so.

 _It was astounding how quickly he had found something to say that was both, true, and diverting_. Julia dropped her jaw in awe of this man she had fallen head over heels in love with. _He was dazzling, truly dazzling._

Gratefully, for she felt _terribly guilty about having put him in this position_ , Julia found herself suddenly speaking aloud to draw attention away from William _, sounding so solid_ , she noted to herself about her own confident and relaxed tone, "I um… I am simply unsure of the outcome," she explained looking around the table. "My furtiveness is to avoid potential embarrassment, I guess," a tiny giggle peppered her fake admission. "It really might not even work," she _feigned humility_ , for her _IUD was already working beautifully_.

Julia looked to William. " _He's refusing to even look at me!_ " her heart screamed the fact. And it hurt so very badly, for she had _lost him all over again._ And then her heart replayed a memory, serving to further magnify and amplify the sadness. The din of the table conversation drifted away as she dropped her eyes back down onto her plate and followed the thread. _Funny, how it started with her writing about it in her journal, hiding away in the dim lamplight from Darcy that same evening,_ _having had been overcome with the irresistible need to purge the pain in any way she could…_

 **Isaac had invited her and Darcy to the final qualifying rounds at the rowing club where several matches would determine which 'shells' and their 'crews' would compete for Canada in the Henley Royal Regatta in England. It had turned out to be a huge event, with every aristocratic toff in Toronto, even in all of Canada it seemed, gathered onto the grandstand to see the final stretches be fought out before them.**

 **She had not expected it… to see William there.**

" _ **Of course the Constabulary would be called in to watch over such an important event**_ **," she had told herself,** _ **probably her last rational thought.**_ **William had not spotted her in the large crowd. She figured to herself that he was busy** _ **instructing constables where to post themselves, what to watch out for…**_

 _ **Wham, her heart thundered in her chest!**_ **William had turned suddenly,** _ **almost caught her eye!**_ **But** _ **he had seen her, she was certain of it,**_ **"** _ **perhaps by how quickly he had turned away,**_ **" she tried to explain the logic of her intuition to herself, as if to find some semblance of control.**

 _ **The surroundings spun so**_ **.**

 **Thrilling, the next few minutes of stolen sideways glances exchanged between them, each sensing the shared impact of being spied upon by the other.**

 **Isaac pulled her out of it, "Julia," he whispered, "Darcy will soon notice. You must stop."**

 **Instinctively she tried to deny, then crumbled, seeing that Isaac knew better. She felt her own tears in her eyes, and she whispered back to him, "Isaac, I… I made a… terrible mistake." She swallowed down the pain, continuing, transparent to him, such a powerful truth unconcealable between herself and this old friend. Her own voice was shaky as she went on, "… to marry Darcy. I shouldn't have, I…" Her eyes met her friend's,** _ **stung him with the sweetness of her hidden weeping**_ **. "I still…" she tried again to say the unbearable, "I still…" but faltered.**

 **Isaac said it for her, "You still love him."**

 **And she nodded, for she could no longer speak, and she felt the biggest glistening tear roll down her cheek, and she sniffled it away, and then she abruptly lifted her chin, giggled at herself, and then wrinkled her brow,** _ **almost falling back into it**_ **, but she held fast to the truth -** _ **She could not collapse, she could not.**_

 **A deep breath as she sterned herself once more. "I shall stop," she said, her attempt at resolve formidable. She sat up taller.**

" **Yes," Isaac's assuredness doubled her strength.**

 **A quick breath, she peeked down the row of the grandstand bench they all sat upon to check Darcy. There was some relief,** _ **he had noticed nothing**_ **. But…**

 _ **Oh my God, but William… William still stood there, alone now**_ **.** _ **And she felt him still glancing at her, and she was certain he was pretending not to.**_ **She resisted the urge to look.** _ **So hard,**_ **she tried to concentrate. "** _ **The finalists in the 'fours' are heading our way,"**_ **a sensible voice in her head coached her to pay attention to the match instead.** __ **Many in the crowd were standing to see the long, skinny boats coming.** _ **Darcy… Darcy stood**_ **. She stood as well,** _ **but she knew, she knew it was to keep**_ _his_ _ **shadow,**_ _his_ _ **silhouette in her view.**_ **Her mind raced as her heart pounded. So many thoughts poured through her…** _ **Perhaps she would never see him again... He was here today keeping the world safe… William Murdoch would always be out there, somewhere, somewhere keeping the world safe…**_

 **And then it happened, rocking the whole of the world.**

 **Their eyes met across the grandstand, as the rest of the planet took on a roaring backdrop, and the boats charged for the finish. The moment – one of those eternal impossibilities of time and space. They were stuck, entranced, captured in each other's orbits. It was as if THEY were the ONLY two people in all the world, in that jumping and screaming and bellowing crowd. And right then she began to tell him, to tell him everything, the words that hovered, mostly now surprising her, not "** _ **I love you, I love you William Murdoch, I love you so that my soul bleeds its last drop longing to be with you."**_ **No, not that truth, not that one, but instead what lifted above it all, what danced in the almost, were the words, "** _ **I'm sorry**_ **." And yet, she did not speak them, for the sting of the swelling in her eyes and her throat choking up… She turned away, eyes bolting down to the wooden grandstand floor at her feet. And then she reconsidered. Took a deep rush of breath that surged her lungs as she steeled to face the world in defiance of its demands of her and who it believed she should love. Her imagination whispered to her, "** _ **Run to him**_ **." And she looked, looked into the place where William had been, and** _ **he was gone, thoroughly and completely traceless,**_ **and she swore in that moment that** _ **she had never known such pain**_ **. The first sob rocked her to her knees, and she tore for cover.** _ **She needed to hide,**_ **to hide so desperately, for she was in utter collapse. "** _ **The outhouse!"**_ **her brain screamed it as she was already in a full-out run.** _ **No one noticed her**_ **, the boats – close, the finish – spectacular. She made it undetected into the pungent, stinging stench of the dark, tiny enclosure, and there she let the power of the flood take her completely. Unheard, she wept, wept until her body accepted, until her soul accepted,** _ **it would be forever, forever, without him**_ **. And the loneliness of it hurt so very badly that she wondered if she would ever survive it, but she knew she would. She knew she would…**

And then Julia was just simply out of the trance, back at the extravagant table, with the polite dinner conversation, dessert being served. _She had been wrong then_ , she told herself as she slowly reconnected with the others. Taking a chance to look towards William. _He, too, was separate, quiet. Still, he would not let her touch his eyes. So beautiful, and big, and brown, those eyes looked elsewhere, and elsewhere again_. She observed him as he turned to Darla, asked her something… " _Did she like pudding?"_ Julia thought. Her mind back to the memory, so heavy still its wake. _It had been utterly hopeless back then_ , she remembered. " _And you survived the hopelessness, not knowing you were wrong_ _and that it would change, that you would be with him again, no matter how impossible it had seemed,_ " she encouraged herself. " _We will survive it now_ ," she tried to buck up.

After dinner, William was still unwilling to look at her. Sean Manning asked William for a rematch at snooker. Julia heard her husband pause in answering. She would spare him.

Julia spoke up from her group, the group next to William and Sean. "We need to go, I think," she said, nodding to Sean. Her eyes perused the room, finding first her female hostess, Millicent, and then her superior at the University, David Fenwick. William walked with her to say goodnight to them.

"I'm sorry. William and I have work tomorrow…" Julia propounded her excuse.

"Ah yes, the detective must keep to his detecting, and you to the morgue, I suppose, dear Julia?" Tom Cunningham interrupted to insert his snide remark. "It's so easy for us to forget. No classes on Friday, you see William," he added, pretending the friendliness to explain.

Julia barely managed to stop her huff. "Yes," she answered. She turned back to Millicent, "I do hope you understand," she asked her, her eyes trailing off to try once more to catch William's… failing.

The four of them walked to the front door.

William took Millicent's hand, lifted it. "Delicious dinner, and enchanting company," he said, winsomely.

"Yes," Julia agreed, "It was wonderful. Thank you again." They turned for the door, Julia reaching to William for his arm, which he tucked in his. _He was willing to play the part at least,_ she noted to herself. Julia glanced to William's face as the light lowered to the glow of the outdoor lampposts… _stony._

 _Weary_ , so weary to have to share a cab ride home together as they were, _weary to the bone_.

) (


	3. 3: To Live is to Fight Against Falling

Chapter 3: To Live is to Fight Against Falling

A temporary sense of safety encloaked William and Julia as they settled into the seat of the cab's carriage. The cab door closed snug, at least there were no longer the eyes of the others upon them, at least they could let themselves fall into the truth of their troubles, their parting over her rebellious actions, her secretly teaching her University students about contraception, abortions, even designing a reliable method to give women control over whether, and when, they got pregnant. It had caused them problems, problems that had quaked their relationship, and all of it was only intensified as they had just survived managing to keep it all a hidden from Julia's fellow professors at the University. Gratefully, the horse clicked forward, the cab began the familiar soothing swaying of movement, and there was some solace in the fact that they were headed for home.

 _William_ , Julia noticed, _had plastered himself firmly at the furthest edge of the seat they shared_. And, she thought, with a throb in her throat, that _he was keeping to his decision_ , the one he had made ever since Millicent Fenwick had asked Julia about her 'secret research.' _It had been since the middle of the fancy meal that he had denied her any sincere connection. William still, it seemed, was not willing to even look at her_.

Her yearning must have been palpable, for he sighed and turned to catch her eye. It felt like the first time in eons since William had finally looked in to her eyes, his look, this look in this dimness, killing her with a salty, weepy, ache that slipped and spilled and seeped down deeper and deeper towards her soul. Both so weary, it seemed that neither of them could quite muster up the strength to bring up the problem between them.

Julia spoke, trying with all her might to sound nonchalant, "You never said whether you liked the dress," she stated, steering clear of the most dangerous topic.

Such a sigh, he was pushing himself for patience. Annoyed, he gave her the truth, "Julia, you very well know that I find both it, and you in it, irresistibly beautiful, so much so that I could not keep my eyes off of you in your… dress." He frowned and added, "You quite clearly caught me tonight, more than once, with my eyes all over you." Then he pinched his lips together, admitting to his lustful reaction, and _a part of him wished it were enough_. A change of subject, as he found himself thinking that " _she did not seem tipsy_." He cleared his throat and inquired, "You did not drink…? But for the one?"

 _Quick her answer, quick and nervous._

"No… I, uh…" she shifted, feeling too much attention on her all of a sudden. She called up her courage, " _truth always the best way, especially with him_ ," she advised herself somewhere in the background, " _even if it is the hardest,"_ she accepted the advice with a swallow. "I…" she blew out some pressure, pushed herself forward, "I had an urge to flirt… to flirt with some of the other men there tonight. To make you jealous…" She giggled, "Tom Cunningham seemed quite keen," and her big blue eyes caught his, and _caught there for a moment, he saw her pain before she turned away_. "I knew it was a bad idea. I needed to keep my wits about me," she explained further, straightening out her skirts, eyes down, eyes determined now, to stay down.

William looked away, out the cab window. " _I would have left her there, had she done that,_ " he told himself, certain it was true. He sighed, instantly aware she would hear him do so, and that in hearing it, she would be reminded that he, too, was hurting.

Julia fought to keep her tears at bay, eyes out her window now. _World going by. Homes… some lights on, some lights out…_

)

The carriage driver chuckled to himself as he pulled the horse up in front of the crazy house on Lamport Avenue. " _Yep,_ " he told himself in his mind, " _I thought it was gonna be this one when he gave me the address_. _Rich people..."_ he smirked to himself. He had thought he recognized the couple when they stepped up to his carriage leaving that toff party. " _Definitely now_ ," he said in his head, " _Definitely Detective Murdoch and his wife Dr. Ogden…_ " he affirmed, continuing, " _I heard he designed this weird house himself a few years ago. They say there are dozens of the detective's zany inventions in there – machines that wash your clothes for you… and even your dishes… And strange little robots that remove the dust from your floors…"_

"Thank you, sir," Detective Murdoch said politely as he handed him the money - _good tip too_.

Julia waited for her husband to offer her his hand to help her out of the carriage. William did not, instead turning away and opening their front gate and starting down their path without her.

He reconciled his actions to himself as he walked away, " _She manages to get out of cabs just fine when I'm not with her…"_

The porchlight unexpectedly turned on, _impressing the driver_.

 _Leave it to Murdoch to install motion sensor devices everywhere._

Only moments later the foyer light lit-up inside the house, invitingly brightening the glass on the front door.

 _Claire-Marie had heard them arrive. She would greet them at the door_.

The nanny gave the couple a quick report on their three young children – as was typical, there had been a few small spats, but all was resolved before bed. All three of their little ones were sleeping soundly upstairs. The adults said their goodnights, and the nanny took her leave through the servant's entrance, grateful for the convenience the detective had designed into the house, providing her with both internal and external egresses to choose from.

Alone together again, William and Julia paused at the junction in their home, _in their lives_ , at the place where the stairs traversed up to their bedroom, straight ahead, that path parting from the one into the living room, _**and to his couch**_ , to the right.

A part of Julia rolled her eyes at her own silliness, for she felt the heat of tears stinging behind her eyes once more, an instant ache with her internal predicting of what would happen. But another part of her rushed to tease with hope, yearning, _"Perhaps, tonight… Perhaps he will sleep with me tonight_..."

"I need my pajamas… my things," William said, sounding both resolved and defeated, as he stepped ahead of her to begin the necessary climb, fighting against the depth of the weariness that leadened his steps. He heard her sigh behind him, and he felt his heart stab with the impact of it, of the _all-too-familiar-now_ wrenching that seemed to tear him apart at the core.

Her footsteps followed behind him up the steps, lingered there behind him as he left the bedroom door opened and headed in, first to the closet to gather the bedding, and then to the bed to retrieve his folded pajamas from under his pillow. He pictured it in his mind, _as the violin hum began to play in his ears – her silhouette in the doorway – lovely and formidable and broken._

Julia's desperation, bared and potent, squeaked within her voice with its telling pitch as she asked him, "How long are you going to punish me?"

 _The ground underneath them shook._

William used the gathering of his pajamas as a means to avoid showing his reaction, but his big sigh was visible from behind him as his shoulders lifted to open his lungs. He too felt the sting of tears threaten, and he pushed them away abruptly with a rush of anger, for there had been a delay, like the crash of thunder following the flare of lightning, it had taken a little time for the blow of being blamed to hit him. His anger, however, surprised him, and his mind reacted to the unexpected rush of that anger by panging him with a wave of wondering and guilt, _for maybe he_ _ **was**_ _punishing her…? Though…,_ the thought followed, _he was certain he was not._

He turned to her, holding firm to the bedding and his pajamas, the clearest signal between them that he would keep to their remaining parted. And yet, as their eyes met, it crossed between them. There was unmistakable and undeniable love between these two, and with it, too, such undeniable hurt. His voice was low in tone, sincere. "I'm not punishing you, Julia," he vowed. But then that twinge of anger surfaced once more, and he felt his jaw tighten with his _seeing himself through her eyes, seeing her blaming_ _ **him**_ _for this_. Curtness in his words now, he retorted, "But you make me sound so petty…" and he leaned in to increase the force, "You make it all sound so easy, like it's all **my** fault. That if I…" William released one arm from the bedding to cover his heart below the bundle, **"…if I** , could just stop punishing you, then all of this suffering would end." He rebalanced the pile of bedding in his arms and his big beautiful eyes burned into hers, and he saw her waver with the hit. And seeing it land such softened him, and the corner of his mouth wrinkled so sweetly for a second before he said, "It's not a question of punishing you, Julia…." And he felt the heat of the salty water of tears fill his eyes, and it trickled downward into the cracks in his voice as he spoke the deepest truth to her, and the hopelessness of it seeped in, "I don't trust you, Julia. I don't trust your judgement… in breaking these laws..."

And unspoken between them, in the shadows, were the stern morals of his Catholic Faith, and all that that entailed. And William's voice slowed, and solemnness weighed down as he added, "…that, and in your not being honest with me. And I don't know how to get over that... how _we_ get over that."

Fear gripped her heart, and to fight it her anger raged up to defend, to protect. That beautiful defiant chin of hers jutted up and out, and William prepared for the blow. "Oh," she began the attack, "It's our _not_ being honest with each other that is the problem, is it? _Not_ telling each other the truth, the truth at all costs?" Julia stepped closer, the earth tilting, "And what about your secret undercover-hobo trip to Winnipeg, William…? Your sneaking off to stay with your precious Ettie in her ' _Tea House'_ without telling me, hmm? What about that? Did I not forgive you for that?" she flared.

The dizziness became his biggest concern. Wobbly, he instinctively knew to run. Escape, escape… _If he could just find the words, ANY words…_ And William's breath floated uselessly between them as he, almost, stuttered, stuttered silently.

And Julia noticed a lost look in his eyes.

And then he retreated past her and down the stairs.

Amazing, the overwhelming flood of emotions torrenting through her – anger, and hurt, and debilitating sorrow mixed in with the heart-wrenching fear of living the rest of her life without him, without him truly at her side. _"You know William will not leave you,"_ she tried to reassure herself. Julia wrinkled a corner of her mouth at herself, for she had no choice but to admit that _that would not be enough_. Tears filled up and spilled over, and she choked them back, refusing to fall. _How could she possibly live, LIVE, without his love_? The thought was flung away.

A deep breath, hands to hips, embodying strength, she got busy undressing, preparing for bed. Her brain working… _There's the morgue tomorrow… A postmortem to write up for McWorthy at Stationhouse #1…_ In her nightgown now, necklace still on… _"Damn!" This darned_ _rainbow necklace,_ Julia cursed the reminder of him trying to give her hope back then, with the gift of it, and of how incredibly patient and kind he had been, William managing to fight against falling into despair with her as she fell, after her miscarriage with Mary Sussanah, and with their large fights in its immediate aftermath _._ Unavoidable it seemed, her sighing.

Before crawling into bed, she tiptoed downstairs and slipped around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, _William already tucked under his sheets on the couch,_ and down the side hallway into the dining room. There she stealthily poured herself a stout whiskey. _She would need it to sleep._

Back upstairs undetected, she sat on the edge of their bed and sipped her whiskey. She did well in keeping her mind on pleasant, distracting, thoughts… lovely really, about their children – _William Jr. starting at school, the girls taking to horseback riding at the club – thanks to Ruby's generous gift of their family membership there._ Not long, she climbed into bed.

Lights out, she realized her eyes were not closed as the shadows grew in distinction around her. She saw herself lying there, _almost corpse-like_ , on her back, arms down stiffly at her sides, and she knew the rigidness was in an effort to fight against the falling back into crying. Invasive, the memory of _sitting at the Fenwick's big opulent table just a few hours ago_ appeared in her head, starting with her _flirting with William, with William being completely taken by her, and her being deliciously caught in his eyes… And then Millicent's question_ … harmful and devastating coming from out of nowhere, _about her "secret" research_ , and then that painful, painful _memory of when she had gone with Isaac, she and Darcy just some amongst many of his friends, to the boat races at the rowing club, and William had showed up there to police the event, and they had snuck glances at each other, and Isaac had noticed and warned her she would get caught, and she had confessed to him that she was still in love with William, and then she had gotten captured in William's eyes, and then she had realized how profoundly sorry she was to have hurt them both so badly, and that was so much like what was happening between them now_ , and then, as if to distance herself from the power of feeling all that, she decided she would read what she had written in her journal all those years ago back on that sad, sad night of the boat races. She could read it now, now knowing that fate had brought them together despite how bleakly hopeless it had all seemed at the time.

As she read her own words, and she let the tears roll down her face with the reencountering of the despair and the utter forlornness of being back in it, she also found that she remembered sharing this same excerpt with William years after she had written it. There was such a magic to the juxtapositions of all of these things coinciding inside her head, inside her heart, all at once, the awareness of it seizing her breath. She chased after the details from that time… " _Oh yes_ ," she found them in the recesses of her mind. _They had had a huge, huge fight on their front porch, in the middle of the night, after she had found William out there with a bottle of her whiskey, and they had fought so terribly about his wanting to ask Isaac to perform an abortion to save her from possibly dying in childbirth with their second child._

And then the slamming of the torturous hurt overtook her completely as she remembered that _she had lost that beautiful little baby girl anyway, even after convincing William to take the risk with her_. And her eyes lifted to the place on their bedroom wall where William had pinned-up the crystal rainbow necklace, perfectly placed exactly where the morning light slipped through the slot in the window blinds, and then, when she was ready to be healed, she had found it waiting for her there. " _A tiger…"_ she suddenly remembered, _they had survived even the attack of a tiger… though surviving it had cost them their unborn daughter…_ And then Julia remembered that bittersweet moment at the orphanage when tiny, sweet little three-year-old Katie dove into William's arms, after asking him if he was good, after asking him if he would be good to her baby sister when we took her away from her, our inevitable doing so leaving this little, little girl all alone in the world to face yet another unbearable loss, the forsaken orphan child drowning in her feelings of being wholly dejected, worthless and unloved. And there on the bed with her journal hugged to her chest, Julia amazed herself at how she quaked and sobbed with the unbelievable pain and beauty of their remarkable, remarkable family as it was now, as it had become despite the odds.

And after the storm had raged through her, when it was finished, and the trembling had quieted, the exhaustion of having ridden all those waves anchored her, and Julia calmed, and she settled in with the acceptance of what was, of what had been, and, with it, she was soothed.

 _There was such an unshakeable strength in having been through so much with him_.

Julia put her journal away, away where it belonged – hers resting with his, her flower-covered journal touching to his simple brown one, tucked-in and safe in his night-table drawer. Her eyes dwelled there for a moment before closing the drawer, cherishing the comforting sight of their two journals together. Another memory flashed in her mind, this one of her discovering that William even had a journal at all, _so unexpected_. She wondered to herself _if she ever would have known he had one if not for her overhearing Emily Grace's odd comment to him_ about the experiences Lillian would have had when Miss Moss lay dying on the ground all alone. " _My God, William Murdoch is such an amazing man,"_ she thought _._ And then tears, so quickly, with the thought _that she might have lost him_ looming.

Firmly, she shut them down, counseling herself, " _You need to sleep."_

She clicked off his lamp to let the darkness win.

Yet, despite her fight against them, teardrops filled in her eyes, and she noticed with the downpour of emotions that she was immersed in the scent of him… her cheek mushed down into his pillow, his _empty, empty_ , pillow. And her mind thought then, begged inside her head, " _William please, please, if you love me, don't let go. Please hold on to me…Don't… don't ever, let go."_ She wrinkled a corner of her mouth at herself as a tear rolled sideways over the bridge of her nose, gravity fating it for his pillow with a soft, delicate, "plop."

She sniffled. Then a voice in her head, " _Work tomorrow_ …" and then the connection to that condescending Tom Cunningham rubbing it in that her husband was a low-class working man. And she recognized that she was grateful for the anger and indignance in response to her colleague's arrogant comments all over again, much preferred over the sorrow and grief. And then Julia sighed and rolled over to her side of the bed, faced away from William's side, as if not being able to see that he wasn't there might work.

It was long, but eventually the needed sleep came.

)

Downstairs, alone with the pale glow of moonlight on the couch, William, too, tossed and turned, trying repeatedly to fight against falling. Uncharacteristically, his urges had turned to thoughts of imbibing in her alcohol in order to cope, to drown away the spinning, nauseating feelings that had overtaken him. _It was fear at its core. He knew that… fear of losing her_. And he was wholly engaged in battling it, struggling with the choices he had before him, stuck slipping and falling, and falling again, into the pit of only seeing the option that told him to take control, that insisted that his making Julia stop breaking these laws was the only way for them to survive this.

And yet barely, _just barely_ , he sensed the truth behind this, that in choosing to stifle her, _to stifle her for her own good_ , he would be sacrificing the possibility of ever truly having her at his side again. _And he wondered,_ just under the sheen of the surface of his conscious awareness, _if he could live with that?_ For it was persistent, the rustling of the subtle hints, this nagging notion, that, only if he accepted the risk, the risk that the world would take her from him because of her outrageousness, could she completely be his in heart and soul.

The pendulum swung back the other way, for the elusive flickers of the idea were so easily doused by his interminable fear. Over and over and over again the lure to be in control tempted him from what he knew in the marrow of his bones to be the truth. He fought it, but the instinct hung on to him – _he could control losing her by making her behave as she should, as the world demanded that she should, or he would have to let her go. Those were the only choices. And he just could not let her go. And therefore,_ some sense of logic concluded _, he would have to make her stop. Only this would quell the fear_.

" _Good,"_ he pinched his lips together to himself there on the couch _, "it is decided."_

 _And yet it seemed…_

 _he still could not…_

 _breathe._

" _But…_ " it troubled him, " _if it is done, if the choice has already been made, why… why do you still feel so petrifyingly scared?!_

 _And honestly, his head hurt so badly…_

And all of a sudden William Murdoch threw off the sheets and got up. Quickly, _before he could talk himself out of it,_ he walked straight into the dining room and poured himself a whiskey. Bottom of the glass up. Then once more. _No regrets_ , he took a deep breath, feeling only the burn of the whiskey, gone now that anguish. Then, quietly, he left the glass beside the decanter and he returned to the couch.

And then finally, finally, stupor overtook him, and William ceased his fighting against the falling, and he yielded into sleep. His last conscious train of thought was a mixture…

 _Of memory…_

 _And dream…_

 _And hushed whispers imparting to him an important truth…_

 **He walked in the park with Julia, a short-time after Darcy had ripped-up her divorce papers, and not long after she had furiously shot her well-aimed arrows into their target, and she had been so mad at Darcy for punishing her by denying her a divorce that she had proposed that he join her in her outrageousness, that they live together, openly, in sin. Somehow he had avoided giving her an answer. And now, now they walked together and discussed his case. It was the first time they had encountered the lethal Eva Pearce. And despite his finding evidence against her, Eva had gone free. But now all of that slipped away in a misty blur as he walked with her.** _ **Odd, how it felt so real, so beautiful, the images, the scents, the light breeze across his face…**_

 **Julia mulled with him over the case, "You've got to give it to her, she's a survivor. Eva Pearce has enormous power. Even you were attracted to her."**

 **And William felt it again,** _ **such discomfort, embarrassed that Julia had seen him so, that he had told her about his dream of kissing Eva Pearce – about wanting this other woman sexually**_ **. And yet, a part of him felt his hackles up, for Julia had said, '** _ **even you**_ **,' and he wondered** _ **if perhaps this woman who thoroughly rocked his entire world, who he was so hungry for that he was constantly overcome by wild all-encompassing fantasies of making love to her, the likes of which he had never even imagined were possible, if somehow Julia thought he was not a very sexual man. And it hurt a bit.**_ **But it seemed his discomfort won out over his indignation for he chose to minimize his arousal, saying, "It was a fleeting moment, Julia."**

 **Julia, however, was on a roll, marveling at the power of a man's being swept up in his ardor. "A man throws away his life for a woman. Even kills for her. He wants her that much," she elaborated.**

" **Apparently," slipped out of his mouth, uncensored. And it could have been said, then, there, that** _ **he felt this way for THIS woman,**_ **but it was left unsaid, for** _ **he was certain it was not the same as it had been for Mr. Monk and his obsession with Eva Pearce.**_ **Besides, he was caught, taken by the beautiful, warm colors of her – the bluest eyes, peaches and cream skin, wrapped in those golden shimmering curls, soft wisps fluttering at her edges, under her silly over-sized hat. And every cell in his body wanted to kiss her, to mingle wholly and completely with hers.** _ **No, this was far beyond an obsession, a mere infatuation.**_ **William would have thought more about it, intrigued…**

 **But then Julia asked him, her stunning eyes and wispy curls and beautiful, beautiful face looking openly into his, "What about me, William? Have I asked too much of you with my immodest proposal?"**

" _ **Immodest!?"**_ **his head screamed the understatement. And it stole his breath and spun his brain, for there was a part of him, a shocking and stunning part of him that** _ **wished he could say he would live with her as she had suggested. But still, he knew he would not be able to do so**_ **, and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, and they both knew his answer would be no. "You are so lovely to me, Julia, but we can only truly be together if we are married," he stated the fact, the truth of who he was as a man, plain between them. He hurried to add what he thought was the reason, "I won't compromise you…" for it was as much to protect her from the ravages of a harsh and judgmental world as it was to live his life according to his morals. And,** _ **oh**_ **, he felt that** _ **worry flooding through him, that his unwillingness to live in her outrageousness might cost him her love,**_ **and he voiced it, "Probably not the answer you wanted to hear." And he waited there, so much on the line.**

 **There was both fondness and wisdom in her voice as she said to him, "But you have principles."**

 **And joy sung in his heart, for he felt the tilt. He sensed it, that** _ **she loved him despite his telling her no.**_ **Not guaranteed, just hoped for, he answered, "Yes, I do," for in the end, that was the truth.**

 **And Julia explained it further, giving to him the words that ensured that she loved him for who he was, "And if you went against them, you wouldn't be the man I want to marry."**

 **And William's heart ignited, and bathed him in such an exquisite warmth as he asked her, "Really?"**

 **And she stepped close, and she touched him, tender and honest, her white glove to his cheek, "Don't be silly…" she said, and then she said magical words, magical words that made the whole world soar with their beauty, for she said to him that, "If anything, this makes me love you more."**

" _ **More! More! She loves me more**_ **because** _ **I held to my principles,"**_ **his head marveled and danced. And it felt as if there was a cosmic consequence, an interlinking, puzzle-piece-locking-into-place significance, for unquestioned and eternally,** _ **Julia Ogden loved him to the very core of who he was.**_

 **But the rush slowed as he wondered, "** _ **And yet, where does that leave us? Can we never be together then…?"**_

 **And Julia worried about the same troubles, and she asked him, "So what happens now?"**

" **We wait," he answered quickly, the obvious conclusion considering their decision, and with their truths as they were. There was no other choice but to wait. Then he voiced the best possible outcome, coaxing the Universe to bend fate their way, "In time Darcy will give in."**

 **There was a sinking when she stated the reality, doubt in her tone, "Perhaps…" and then she turned to the sweet trees and the green grass, and the fluttering birds singing all around, and she tucked her arm in his, and she cheered softly, her breath across his ear, "In the meantime, let's enjoy this beautiful day."**

 **And together they walked into their future, feet firmly on the ground, "Yes," he said. And there was gratitude in his heart, for they had each fought against falling and come out on the other side together, together and still whole, each whole in themselves. Never, never ever, had he felt so grateful to be alive.**

) (


	4. 4 To Live is to Work

Chapter 4: To Live is to Work

Constable George Crabtree kept the horse's trot at a slow pace down the middle-of-the-night, moon-already-set, darkened road. _The detective and the doctor would likely need a bit more time to dress, particularly after being woken-up at such an ungodly hour, "and worse…,"_ George figured, defending what could be construed as his lack of a sense of urgency _, "to be 'needed' for such a grisly murder."_ George shuddered imagining it for a second – _**being burned alive.**_

Turning away from the gruesomeness, he glanced towards the back of the carriage. " _Yep, murder bag and even the light-in-a-box,"_ he reassured himself. _The detective would surely ask…_

" _Bollocks,_ " George whispered to himself under his breath, for the Murdoch house was dark – not a light shining through even one window, " _No one phoned them."_ First, he had cursed Constable Fife, now he berated himself for being right, _"I knew if I gave that man more than one instruction, he'd forget something."_

 _No other choice but to be the one to wake them_ , George hitched the horse to the Murdoch's fence and opened their front gate. As he approached the house, the porchlight came on. " _Good,_ " he thought, " _Someone's awake_."

 _No foyer light, though. Nobody at the door…?_ And then it clicked in his head, " _Ah yes, Murdoch… an invention_."

 _He would need to ring the bell. It would probably wake the children too_. For that, there was anxiety in his heart. He opted for a soft knock first, not expecting it to work. Then a little louder. " _Phew,"_ he thought as a light shone through the frosted glass of the front door. " _Odd," the light coming from the side of the foyer…"from their living room_ ," he noted.

The detective, in his red pajamas, appeared in a fuzzy, foggy outline through the opaque glass.

"Sir, it's me. George, sir," he said through the door. And in the back of his head he started explaining things to himself. _The detective must've been sleeping on the couch. They must be arguing…_

The door opened, the detective gesturing for him to come in. Thrown-off by how disheveled the detective appeared, George rushed to apologize. _A part of his mind kept telling himself to stop staring at Detective Murdoch's hair – at the spiked-up, alfalfa-like crest that looked just utterly ridiculous on this 'always spotless' man_. "I'm so sorry sir," his voice betrayed his discomfort, "I instructed Constable Fife to phone you…"

"So, a murder then, Constable," Murdoch concluded.

George pulled off his helmet, fidgeted with its edges. "Yes… um, yes sir. A particularly unpleasant one I'm afraid," he explained, adding a detail, "A fire."

William's fingers reached for his brow – so many reasons he was suddenly inundated with stress. "Julia will be needed as well, then…"

George hesitated, unsure whether it was a question or a statement. He watched as the detective peered, first, up the stairs, and then into the living room – _the pillow and sheets on the couch awkwardly obvious._

A light drew both of the men's eyes up the staircase.

The doctor, _in a notably alluring silk robe, with her hair, voluptuous and tempting, cascading down over her shoulders and her bosom, luminating her figure in full and golden tresses,_ rounded the corner at the halfway point up the stairs. "William," she called, sleepiness rasping her voice. Catching sight of the Constable, she said aloud, more explaining the situation to herself than attempting to communicate, "George…" then her mind found things quickly, "A murder, I suppose."

Julia's eyes toured down her pajamaed husband's body, then up to note his tousled cockatoo-hair, and then suddenly her eyes widened and darted to the couch.

 _And a sudden barrage of uncomfortableness seemed to suck all the air out of the room._

William spoke, his voice merely heard, all eyes remaining affixed to the rather cozy-looking couch, "We're both needed, I'm afraid." He took a breath, centering, steadying. _He needed his wits about him if he was to get to work._ "We will have to wake Claire-Marie," facts and reason figmenting before him. "I'll call her," he offered, stepping to the small foyer table and lifting the handset from the phone.

Dr. Ogden turned to the steps, "I'll get dressed. I won't be long Constable, I assure you," she nodded and smiled to George.

 _He did not doubt for a second that this uncommon woman would likely be beautiful and ready to depart long before her husband._ His mind drifted, wondering _how it was that the detective always managed to look so well-turned out in any circumstance…_ " _That was until tonight_ ," George corrected himself. "No hurry, doctor," he answered her. "The victim surely isn't going anywhere," he added, regretting it immediately after he said it.

"No, I suppose not," she gave and then headed up the stairs.

After making the phone call to their nanny over in the servant's quarters, the detective quickly gathered up the items of bedding on the couch, the whole while keeping his eyes wholly on his task and his words on the job, asking after his murder bag and whatnot. He carried the bundle with him up the stairs, leaving George to wait in the foyer.

In the bedroom, finding Julia already tucking her blouse into her skirt – _no corset_ , he observed, their eyes caught for a second.

"He knows…" she asked him despite her already knowing, "of our estranged sleeping arrangements?"

"He does," William's response, his tone and subsequent sigh revealing his disappointment with the fact.

Catching notice that his still unkempt hairstyle, Julia considered teasing him to lighten the mood, in her head hearing her jesting first, " _I was hoping he might have been so distracted by your stalagmite-hair that he had missed it…"_ But she quickly dismissed the idea, saying instead, "I know we are in a hurry, but perhaps some pomade for your hair…?"

William scowled and wondered to himself, "W _ill the humiliations never end?"_

)

When the threesome arrived at the police carriage, William had expected to see the familiar horse, Sonny, hitched up to the carriage. "You didn't harness Sonny?" he asked. And all of them knew that William was referring to the horse that held a special place in William's heart, for the little chestnut horse had bravely aided in chasing down Sally Pendrick and her lethal deathray machine, and multiple other criminal pursuits as well. But even more importantly, Sonny had been the horse who had blazed a path through the high and drifted snow to bring his newborn son, and his weak and unconscious wife, to the hospital after their surviving the impossible ordeal of having William perform the Cesarean section on Julia to deliver the child and save Julia's life.

"This is a white horse, sir. And besides, I thought it best to give Sonny a break, he's getting on in years," George explained.

They paused at the footstep up into the police carriage. The vehicle George had brought was more buckwagon than carriage, and the three of them would be sitting together, the driver in the middle.

Knowing she would not be driving, Julia raised her hand towards William to help her up. He did so.

George continued justifying his choice in the horse. "Besides, sir, it is the middle of the night. I wanted a horse that would be easily seen," he added. There was a pause as he waited for the detective to climb up next.

Unexpectedly, the detective stepped aside and said, "You drive, Constable."

"Oh… Of course, sir," George rushed to it. "As you wish," he agreed as he climbed up, slipped over next to the doctor and took the reins in hand. And he could not help but think to himself, as he settled in in between the couple that _this, too, was because of their troubles, akin to the detective sleeping on the couch._ And the severity of the couple's discord, and the fact that two of his favorite people in the whole world were at odds with each other, began to register in his heart.

All aboard, the white horse was quickly turned around and sent forward, gliding the night air over them. There was silence but for the clip-clop of hoofbeats.

Julia's eyes stared down at the white equine rump rocking left and right before them, and in her head she remembered, _just a few hours ago, how lovely it had been_ after William had done so well at playing billiards, and she watched him from across the Fenwick's big table,telling the others about his gallantly mounting-up on a white horse and surging it off into a gallop, the whole while twirling a cowboy-rope round and round in a swirling circle with one hand, steering the steed with the other, and then in the end lassoing an escaping suspect. _Such a hero, this William Murdoch._ And she remembered getting _caught in his eyes when he looked up at her_ , and she remembered _remembering when a similar thing had happened back when she had been married to Darcy,_ at the boat races with Isaac and his friends, and she remembered _how much it had hurt seeing this man she loved so much, but whom she had left and then married another_ , and then once more she felt that hurtful regret burning hot inside her core, for she had seen so clearly _that he still loved her, and that she still loved him, but that they would never be together,_ and then _she wished, so very, very, much, that in the here and now_ , they could resolve this whole issue of his disapproval of her teaching her students what they needed to know to truly help their patients. And she felt _so alone without him_ , without his love for her, _alone and cold._

William too, found himself glazing over with thoughts, thankful that Crabtree had uncharacteristically held his tongue. He remembered being startled awake by George's knock, and he thought to himself that _the whiskey had worked,_ and he had finally been able to drift off. And then he remembered _his dream_ , or _perhaps his memory,_ of _Julia making her immodest request of him_ that they live together in sin because Darcy would not grant her a divorce. And then he remembered _the beauty of the sweet sensations of having her cup his cheek in her velvety-soft gloved hand,_ and whisper down into the crevices of his soul, that _he would_ _not_ _be the man she wanted to marry if he would agree to such an outrageous proposal,_ and he remembered feeling so grateful for her, and then the ache landed, _the ache of now_ , and he remembered where they were, and what they were doing, and he admitted to himself that _he was indebted to the work, to be called in to work a case, for it would occupy his mind._ And he noticed that it was cold as the horse hurried on through the late-summer night, and he thought of Julia over on the other side of George, wearing nothing more that her thin blouse, and he decided he would give her his jacket. He unbuttoned it and pulled it off.

"Doctor," his using her official title rather than her given name maintaining the coldness between them, despite the kindness inherent in what he offered, "You must be cold," he said, reaching behind George to pass her the jacket.

So many possible responses danced through her mind, but then time passed, and none of them were chosen _. Settled upon, the silence_.

Julia put on his jacket.

The first thing, the first wonderful thing that she noticed was the warmth, the warmth from his body still harbored within the silken fabric now embracing her skin. But, as she tucked it closer, hugged it around her, her tender, corset-less, breasts touched against the hard, unyielding objects in the inner pockets. _"Of course,"_ she thought, " _William's things. William always had so many things_." _Honestly, it felt like magic, the way he produced needed objects out of seemingly thin air so often._ She hugged the jacket tighter to her breasts, indulging to identify the possessions he had tucked away. There was " _a magnifying glass, his notebook, one… no, two pencils," and what she was fairly certain was his penknife_. Her heart somehow melted, and saddened, as she found it, as she felt it there - _pillowy_ , its softness starkly contrasting it from the other items. It was just waiting there, waiting for him to use it to comfort her as he had done so many times in the past, _his handkerchief._

William's mind had travelled to the task at hand – an " _unpleasant_ " murder to investigate… to solve. He pictured a charred body, fighting the urge to push away the grisly image. He knew from experience that the effect of being in the presence of such a corpse could be skin-crawling. But, at least on a subliminal level, William Murdoch knew how to handle such pointless reactions, and he immediately strove to objectify the body he was seeing in his mind… to dehumanize it, and in so doing, to see it as a 'thing' that would provide him with clues he would need to solve the case. Suddenly, a part of his mind recognized that _**they were headed back towards the stationhouse**_ , jumping him to alert.

"George!" William called out, causing the other two to gasp to attention. _Over-reacted_ , his brain told him. "Sorry… Sorry, I uh… Where are we headed?" he asked more evenly.

"Oh," George replied, "The Tipsy Ferret, sir… Behind it at least."

Julia rushed to ask, "Hodge's place?!" her concern for the owner of the bar, whom they all knew so well as Constable John Hodge, racing her heart.

"Did it burn down?" William worried.

"No. No, the fire was in the alleyway _behind_ the bar," George explained.

A breath, the relief appearing on their faces.

Then George elaborated, "The call that came in… uh, prompting Constable Fife to call and wake me, sir… It was for the constabulary, not for the fire guard, so it seems the building was likely not harmed."

William's brain moved ahead to imagine arriving at the scene, and he wondered aloud, "Has Hodge been notified?"

A distinct frown grew visible on George's face in response to the question. "Well sir, I can only hope that Constable Fife called him. It was the last instruction I gave him before leaving to come retrieve you… err, you and the doctor, sir. So… hopefully he will have remembered to do it…" His frown burrowed deeper, and he added, "He forgot the first thing on the list…," George almost added, _as I should have expected…_

"Oh…?" William asked, his eyebrow lifting. There was just a hint of sarcasm in his tone, for Fife was famous for his bug-eyed overenthusiasm and clumsy forgetfulness.

"I had first instructed him to call you sir," came the response, immediately shedding light on why it was that George had appeared out of seemingly nowhere to wake them in the middle of the night…

And prompting William's mind to rush backward thinking, " _And to end up seeing that I had been sleeping on the couch,"_ with an unconscious wrinkle at the corner of his mouth regretting it. _Folly,_ but the whole thing could have been avoided if Fife had just called as he was told to, giving _time to put away the bedding,_ not to mention _time to be dressed_ and thus to _arrive at the scene sooner. Who knows what clues may have missed at the expense of that half an hour…?_

There was almost a sigh, and William replied, "I see."

Switching to brighter things, George turned to address Julia on his other side, "I asked Constable Fife to rouse your attendant, doctor, and to help him bring the morgue carriage over to the entranceway into the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret for you. Fife was to escort him to the scene. They should be there by the time we arrive."

"That was very helpful, George. Thank you." Julia answered.

And the awkward silence returned.

)

As they pulled up to the entrance to the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret, the morgue carriage and Constable Fife were nowhere to be found. William secretly was grateful, despite the inconvenience to Julia, because _surely Fife would have completely destroyed the crime scene with his bumbling about if he had been waiting here unsupervised._

William stepped down from his side of the carriage even before it had completely halted, George right behind him. Julia began to slide over to their side, _expecting William to help her down_ , but she remembered that _he did not offer his hand last night when they arrived home from the dinner party, and…_

Detective Murdoch got right to it. "Please secure the horse Constable, and then check the area for any witnesses," he began giving his instructions. He then leaned over the side of the carriage to retrieve his murder bag and the light-in-a-box.

Julia climbed down from her side of the carriage and, as she walked over to the two men, she slipped out of his jacket.

"Quite chivalrous of you detective," she offered, handing him his jacket. _She agreed with herself_ inside her head that _it was so, especially considering their current state._

Simple, his nod, as he put down the heavy items and slipped on his jacket.

They both suddenly felt George staring at them… And the awkwardness of having him know they were in the midst of arguing materialized. The shift took them out of the moment, widened the view, and the weight of their troubles returned. William reached up and rubbed at his forehead, then released a big sigh. "Shall we doctor?" he invited, bending down to lift the unique investigatory tools in the cases.

The two of them turned and walked in side by side into the alley. Julia reminded herself that _it was their habit to maintain professional ties at crime scenes,_ even if they were not working out how to behave in public while in such discord with each other.

)

Only one step into the alleyway, the smell of the burned body hit one's senses, and the skin crawled in response to knowing what was to come.

The victim was found, knees bent up in front of his chest, in a depressed coal-chute window that connected to the Tipsy Ferret basement. Because it was late-summer, there was no coal in the hole, and there was no coal likely down the chute in the basement either.

Crossing himself, pausing to truly feel the relief of knowing that this poor and suffering person was now in the hands of God, William heard himself, off somewhere in the recesses of his mind, encouraging, " _Well, at least his wife, or father, or some other loved one won't have to go through the ordeal of confirming an identity for us."_

And at his side Julia also fought the wobble of shock. " _Oh, this is quite awful,"_ she gasped to herself. Defensively, reliably, she turned to work, and her brain began making observations, thus widening the distance between herself and the burnt-to-a-crisp human being before them… " _The clothing is indistinguishable from what remains of the skin… or, perhaps, he was naked…?"_ She interrupted herself, " _Gender, Julia, consider the gender,"_ the soothing and in control _doctor-voice_ coached.

William used the light-in-a-box to better see the area. His distinguishing eye noted that there was a covering of coal dust around the coal-chute window. " _Shoeprints…_?" he asked himself as quickly as he answered – _there were. He would need to instruct George… definitely not Fife, to make casts._

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife crouch down to the body. "Our victim is male…" her _so familiar_ voice began giving her report. He squatted down a few feet away from her, leaving room for the light to come between them.

"…based on the pelvis," she continued. She reached down to float her had above the corpse to gage the heat coming off of it. Next to her, William grimaced and shook his head. There was a sound from him – a tiny, tiny sound from deep in his throat, stifled, but escaped. And it told her that _he was distraught_. She turned to better see his face, and… And… _it was there_ , that magical rawness and vulnerability and pure honesty that these two shared between them sometimes. _And it tugged so strongly at her heart_. She started to ask him, "William, what is…?"

And he returned his eyes down to the body. And she followed them to observe where exactly they were drawn. _It was to the hands_ , to the victim's two hands balled-up into fists and tucked up in front of the body, and _she knew, she knew what it was that William had assumed, and what it was that was troubling him so._

"William," her tone reassured, "This position… of the body. It is common in particularly hot fires." She stopped herself there, reminding herself that his concern was more human than scientific, and highly urgent. "He might not have been alive when he caught fire," she hurried to say.

 _So beautiful, his eyes, his essence_ , as he breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to her, the gesture giving gratitude as much as conveying his understanding. They both avoided the implied fact – that the defensive-looking position did not ensure that the victim did not suffer the imagined torture, it only allowed for the possibility that he had not.

Instinctively, Julia moved on to their shared fascination with science to help him recover and to get back to working the case. "It's called the 'pugilistic stance,'" she said.

"Oh," William brightened, "Like a boxer?"

"Yes. Yes, exactly," she smiled, _their enchanting chemistry never ceasing to amaze her_. She went on, "In high-temperature fires, the body often is found in a defensive position, like this one…" her eyes drew William's back to the body. "A pugilistic position such as this is characterized by flexion of the elbows, knees, hips, and the neck, and typically with the clenching of the hands into fists…" she described the position to a tee, adding, "It gives the impression that the victim was bracing against the onslaught of pain." A deep breath, and she offered, as she straightened up her shoulders and pressed at the creases in her skirt, "It results from muscle stiffening and shortening due to the extreme and sudden heat."

William nodded.

"Well, it is a clue," she cheered, "It suggests that an accelerant could have been used – something that would have made the fire burn hotter."

"I see," William nodded again. _That was something._ William turned his attention to looking for indications as to which particular accelerant was used in this fire. " _Behind the body, against the wall…!"_ he spotted it, _a melted and re-solidified glass bottle, well, at least the bottom corner of one._

Julia watched as he carefully placed a foot down into the cement floor of the hole, close to the body, and then bent over and stretched towards the object. He hesitated, wondering if it would still be too hot to touch, sensing the temperature of the air near it. It had welded to the ground, making a glassy puddle underneath the bit that seemed retrievable. _It would be a challenge to get it up without breaking it._ His fingers still on it, he asked her, "Would this do?"

"Can you tell what it was?" she asked, standing and leaning over to see better.

"My best guess is a liquor bottle of some sort. I will need to venture to identify it further," he replied.

 _There was excitement in his voice, confidence. Clues had that effect on this man,_ Julia noted.

"Why yes, alcohol, ethanol…" Julia paused to find the detailed memories she needed, "The peak flame temperature of ethanol is quite high, 1,920 degrees Celsius. Compared to wood, which is much lower… about…"

William finished for her, "600 degrees." He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets…

 _Julia had come to interpret this particular gesture of his as one he used to appear,_ _less,_ _to be bragging._ She tucked her chin in a bit _and prepared for the lecture._

William went on, "Once the wood has released all its gases, it leaves charcoal and ashes. Charcoal burns at temperatures exceeding 1,100 degrees Celsius. But there would have been no wood here. Not likely even any coal. Even if there were, the ethanol would have made the fire as hot… the maximum temperature of a coal fire in a forge is about 1,927°C."

"Oh…?" Julia's voice had the delicious teasing air it could take sometimes, "7 degrees higher than ethanol, precisely. I see," she giggled, marveling at his astute memory.

William's returning gesture melded admonishing her, with admitting to it, but it also revealed what he was trying to hide, pride. He cleared his throat and continued his dissertation on the relative temperatures at which substances burn. "Even gasoline only burns at 945°. And I think we must consider the glass in the bottle…" William pushed to make some headway in the case, "The glass bottle was left about a foot from the burning body, so it would not get as hot…"

Julia figured _this was her chance to hop in, for she knew this one!_

She stepped closer to him and held his eyes with hers, inserting, "For glass to get a fluid consistency, gooey, like honey, the temperature has to be just a bit above that of wood, so 650 degrees or so…?"

He nodded.

There was a pause as they each considered why the bottle had not completely melted. William reached up and rubbed his brow.

Julia gave the suggestion, questioning herself but rushing to try, "Perhaps it was thrown on after…? When the fire was cooling… It would, you know… cool, once the clothing and most of the flesh had burned."

It was at that moment that Constable Fife and Julia's morgue attendant appeared behind them. Both of them recoiled upon seeing the body. Julia reassured the two men that the victim might not have suffered as the body's position suggests, but rather that he could have been dead before he was set on fire.

William sent Constable Fife to look around, advising him to search the immediate area for a possible weapon, or any other evidence, but then realizing that it was Fife who he was talking to, so he added more specifically, "Look for any signs of a struggle, like blood, or bullet casings, or marks on the ground." He sighed, _wishing he had someone more competent. He would make the shoeprint casts himself,_ he decided.

Julia and her attendant busied with preparing to transport the charred body. Delicately, and with William's help, they got the body up out of the coal-chute window casement and onto a stretcher. William and the attendant took it to the morgue carriage, and the attendant headed off to store it in the morgue cold room. Julia planned to conduct the postmortem tomorrow. She offered to stay behind in case there was any further evidence she could assist with. She stood watching William make the shoeprint casts, her brain working on the problem of _how they could remove the melted bottle…_

Constable Fife, out of breath more from excitement than from running, suddenly rushed around the deeper corner of the alley. "Sir! Sir! Detective Murdoch, sir!" he screamed.

"Shh," the detective shushed him, "People are sleeping."

"Sir! There's another one," Fife declared, "Another body!"

Around two corners, in a part of the alleyway that came to a dead end, they found him.

The negro man lay, splayed out flat, in the very middle of the alleyway floor, stinking to hell of liquor, an empty bottle beside him.

 _He looked to be a man of age…_

 _Silver-haired, a ragged shirt and baggy pants…_

 _With worn-out shoes._

William noticed the shoe size – " _Size matches the shoeprints…"_ and that added to the _shabby state of the man, an obvious drunkard,_ and William's subconscious jumped – " _He was probably our killer_." Another part of his brain interrupted him with a jolt, " _Did he just breathe…?"_

Julia had instantly attended to the body, kneeling down immediately to him. _Somehow… his rosy coloring despite his darker skin perhaps, she could tell that he was alive._ She glanced at William, then looked to Fife, then back to the body, her fingers at his neck, taking a pulse. "Constable," she corrected, "this man is not dead, but he does appear to be rather inebriated." She would offer a somewhat snide suggestion, seeing the funny side of the situation. She stood and placed her hands on her hips, all eyes down on the body waiting for her as she considered. "Perhaps, detective, it is better to send him to hospital than to the morgue?" she held back a giggle.

William frowned, her sarcastic humor much less appreciated now that they were suffering such troubles between them. And besides, just out of his conscious reach, he was contending with _flashes of images of his own drunken father which were playing havoc with his emotions, William's only clue to his falling his abrupt clenched jaw and curled fists, and a shallowness of his breaths, and that infuriating pounding of his heart in his chest, and that battering, clobbering, in his ears_ …

Unexpectedly, William stepped forward to the man on the ground and gave him a light kick, "Oi!" he ordered, "Rouse yourself old-timer!"

Julia gave him a hard look, sternness outweighing the shock of it.

Her judgement only angered him more. "I think we'll be locking him up in one of our cells, instead of either of the other two," he said.

Crabtree's voice sounded on approach, "Oh, there you all are." George stopped next to Constable Fife. The air was thick, and he rushed from face to face trying to determine what was going on. _The detective looked angry. So did the doctor. And Fife looked bug-eyed and fidgety – not so different from normal for him. Still,_ George figured _the couple had been disagreeing._

"Constables," _William was giving orders_ , "Please take this man to the cells."

Crabtree found it hard to look away as Julia gave her husband a taken-aback look.

"William?" her surprise had caused her to drop her guard, to lose her adherence to their usual protocol at crime scenes, and only after her voice had pierced the air, and all eyes were upon her, did she feel how _oddly strange and unfamiliar it was to use the more intimate term of address for him with others looking on._ It made it _apparent, obvious_ , that it had been _such a long, long time since they had truly been alright with each other_ , and it reminded her that it was _because they had parted over her illegal 'women's activities,' and that lit a flame of anger at him inside of her as well._

His eyes glared hard-heartedly back into hers, a challenging air to his expression, to his body language. He held, "He is a suspect. His state of inebriation only incriminates him more. Men are much more likely to lose control in such a…" and a judgmental, distasteful look stole his face, and he waved his hand dismissively at the man's limp body lying on the ground before them, finishing, "…state." He turned to George, "I would like you go in to the cells as well, Constable… undercover, as a drunk. You can cozy-up to him, as one drunken bum to another. See if you can get him to confess."

"Wil… Detective," Julia corrected her earlier mistake, "There is no evidence this man is in anyway related to the body. Perhaps… Perhaps he was doused in alcohol. Perhaps he isn't even drunk at all…!?" Her chin jutted up, and William recognized the posture – _they were in a full-fledged fight now._

George added timidly, but thinking he had the voice of reason, "There is a bottle of whisky next to him, doctor." He wrinkled his face in doubt, "Though, we just assumed he drank it…"

William asserted, "He could have poured it on the body…" and then he pulled out his handkerchief and lifted up the bottle to examine it, "…as an accelerant." It appeared that it could match the melted one they had found with the victim's burnt body. "This, and he has the right shoe size, and he's drunk as a skunk…" William was only gaining speed. "Doctor," _even he shuddered a bit at the harshness of his tone with her,_ "please take a blood sample, if you must. It will only prove this man was drunk."

" _Or that he was not,"_ Julia thought to herself. And then she instinctively turned to compassion, reminding herself about _William's difficult past, about his childhood, and about how badly affected he had been by his drunken father…And she remembered that case so long ago when his father was the suspect, and how adamant William had been that Harry was guilty, and how uncharacteristic that was for him, and she knew this reaction now was wrapped up in all of that, and she felt herself soften._

She smiled and nodded to him. "I will," she tried to sound willing. Julia knelt down to open her medical bag, readying the syringe.

William crouched down next to the negro man and began to search his pants pockets. He spoke aloud to the group, "A few coins…" then he moved to search the inside breast pocket of the man's tattered and torn jacket.

 _The detective found something…_

William's expression changed, a different kind of fire in him now. "I think we have an identity,' he said, as he pulled out an old, beaten-up, leather business card holder.

George thought out loud, "It seems odd that such a man would have business cards…"

The others nodded in agreement.

But…

 _But how Julia's heart panged with a deep ache at the sight of William's face…_

William tugged out the only thing tucked away inside the business card holder, and he found that it was not a business card at all. _It was a photograph_. He was still speaking, and he heard his own voice explaining, "He must use it to keep the photograph safe. It must be import…" And William's voice stopped, for he had taken in what the picture showed. It was of the old man and a dog. In the picture, the negro man was much younger, and he sat on park bench with his arm around the dog, smiling, white-teethed, at the camera. William lifted an eyebrow, "Curious," he said, passing it up to George, who passed it to the doctor.

Fife only got a glimpse, hopping and dodging from behind to try to see.

 _Julia had caught the sad look flowing over her husband's face when he had seen this photograph_ , and now looking down at it herself, she remembered how _many, many times William had requested that they get a dog, and she just knew that William felt the pain of loss there. And she admired him again, more again, for his compassion, compassion even with a man he had judged as unworthy, unworthy because he had let himself fall into ruin rather than fighting it, much as William's father had done._ And she wondered to herself, _if the pain William felt associated with the loss of this dog, this dog that she only now suspected he had had as a boy, but that she had never been told of, she wondered if the loss of this dog might not be connected with the other big losses in William's life, with the loss of his mother, and then his father too, and then even his little sister when he was sent away to the Jesuit School…_

William pushed away the tenderness he felt. There was a sigh. " _No identification then…"_ his thoughts pulled him back to his work, back to the case. Suddenly he remembered that _Crabtree had been sent to find witnesses_. Detective Murdoch's confident voice grounded the bunch of them as it sounded optimistically, "And what have you George?"

The constable took out his notebook from his pocket to give his report. "Of course, as you all know the barmaid, Miss Quigg, lives above the Tipsy Ferret. She said she was the one to call the Constabulary… Smelled the smoke… She put out the fire – said she did it herself, with a bucket. She reported that nothing else was burning, only the coal-chute window. And then of course, she found the disgusting body smoldering there. As to hearing anything unusual in the area, she said up until she closed the bar at around 12:30 in the morning, it was noisy as usual… After that, nothing stood out to her as a disturbance, or as odd…" George glanced at his notes, "Cat fights in the garbage…" he looked at the detective and pinched his lips together, admitting he wished he had more, then he added, with a slight role of his eyes for emphasis, "Miss Quigg quite dislikes alley-cats, sir."

)

John Hodge stepped up behind the group as they all encircled the still-unconscious negro man. His eyes instinctively down on the man on the ground, he cleared his throat to alert the others that he was there, and then he said "Detective, I know this man."

"Oh," Detective Murdoch stepped back to include their old friend and fellow policeman. "Hodge…" he nodded a greeting. "We're sorry… um…" William looked around the alleyway, then down at the drunken vagabond on the ground and continued, "about all of this."

"It's quite alright, William," Hodge responded, "My place will be alright." Changing the subject, Hodge gestured down at the drunk, "His name's Beau Jangles, and he'd dance for you… the old soft-shoe."

"Dance?" George inquired.

"You might not know it from the look of him, so old and tattered… the type of man you know has had a hard life…" Hodge said, the others nodding in agreement, "But this man here, he can dance," he said, "Dance like nothing you've ever seen. He's come into my place most nights the past fortnight or so. He dances for drinks and tips." Hodge looked to the detective.

"Anything else?" William asked.

"Well…" Hodge pushed his memory, "He said he traveled minstrel shows and county fairs most his life. But… well I got the impression he was all on his own now. Though he never seemed lonely. He'd drink, but I never have seen him bad with it." Suddenly it dawned on Hodge that Mr. Beau Jangles might be a suspect… "Do you think he did it?!" he rushed to ask, dumbfounded by the thought.

William nodded, "Possibly. There is evidence."

Hodge shook his head, "I wouldn't have thought so, William," he said, "I really wouldn't have thought he had such a thing in him."

"Well," the detective said, gesturing for the constables to begin to collect the man, "I'll interrogate him tomorrow. Dr. Ogden will conduct her postmortem," he looked to Julia who nodded. "Can you come to the stationhouse tomorrow…?" he asked Hodge, "…bring Miss Quigg with you?"

"Yes, of course William," Hodge answered, startling and then cringing with empathic pain as Constable Fife dropped his half of the, now mumbling, inebriated man. "We'll be there…" he continued, watching on as the two constables each wrapped one of Mr. Beau Jangles' arms around their necks and they managed to move him forward. "Tomorrow…"

They all pinched their lips together and nodded, tied together as they were, they felt it keenly, that to live was to work, and for them, their work had just begun, anew.

) (


	5. 5: To Live is to Share a Laugh

Chapter 5: To Live is to Share a Laugh

" _It was taking its toll,"_ Julia heard herself think after sending the children down to "wake Daddy on the couch." She slipped on her silk robe over her nightgown and followed them down.

 _The sounds were so lovely_ , William growling, and little children screeching, and laughing, and grunting with their efforts at pummeling their big, strong, father with their pillows, most decorative, borrowed from the couches and chairs, though William Jr.'s was the big white one William had brought downstairs from their bed. The soft thumps of each blow drummed out a jungly beat, and joy filled the air, for the game was afoot. Julia decided she would join in, _the children thinking that now the game was completely perfect with Mommy playing too,_ as she added her own fluffy, colorful couch pillow into the attack on the Daddy Monster, who intermittently retreated and then suddenly would fight back, grabbing hold of some little one or another and flipping them over, and spinning and tossing them about, to be rewarded by their squeals of delight.

Soon, out of breath, and collapsed into a pile of Murdoch's on the couch, Julia would be the adult, suggesting an end to the roughhousing, telling everyone that there was a big day ahead, and that Claire-Marie would be upstairs waiting to dress the children, and that Mommy and Daddy needed to get ready for work. And then she reminded them that William Jr. had a special day today, and that lent impetus to their moving, and they all lifted up to begin their day.

It was " _a Friday_ ," so there would not be any meat – " _no bacon for breakfast_ ," Julia reminded herself, once again noticing that she didn't _FEEL_ very Catholic. Her mind delved deeper, wondering about her own decision all those years ago, and its consequence, that _she would now be living a sham, a lie_. _"Was it regret?_ " deeper down went her thoughts, seeking the answer. " _No. No, not regret_ ," her inner voice told her, _"merely recognizing once more, accepting its cost, to live with this feeling of not being authentic, not being comfortable in your own skin_. She wondered _if William felt uneasy with it still. She reckoned he probably did, at times, as it was with her._ Gravity shifted, and her thoughts rose towards the surface, towards the light of day, needing a breath of fresh air. And yet, she suddenly imagined the _awful smell she would encounter in the morgue, the body, charred and burnt, the postmortem to come, challenging._ She sighed, and then explained her heavy feelings to herself – _she would need to give her report to William_ , and _they were each thoroughly exhausted_ , after the _Fenwick's party last night_ , and their _continued fighting when they had gotten home afterwards_ , and then to be _called out to a rather grisly crime scene in the middle of the night_ on top of all that. _It would take grit to keep moving_. Fortunately, the Murdoch's lacked, _**not**_ , in grit.

)

The whole family sat around the warm kitchen table, with their housekeeper, Eloise, cooking and serving them and buzzing about in the background. William read the newspaper, he passed a section over to Julia. It was a favored tradition, Eloise buying the papers for him each morning. The family discussed William Jr.'s ' _practice day_ ' today. It was quite exciting really. Today, William and William Jr. would be pretending it was the first day of school, which in reality was not until next week. There was so much to plan – Eloise had prepared Master Murdoch a lunch that he would need to take with him. His father had made him a special pack to wear on his back for his lunch box and his other essential school materials, like books and pencils. He would wear it while he rode on the back of his father's bike to the school. His father had even installed special 'stirrups' for his feet to rest on during the ride. Katie, in particular, was terribly jealous of her older brother. Julia pointed out that it was not only that she wished she were going to school too, but also that she would miss playing with her brother during the day. Chelsea insisted that she, too, wanted to go to school.

So much of childhood was learning to handle anticipation and disappointment. Perhaps, so much of life, really, too.

There was a deep exhale, all eyes to William. He folded the paper in half and placed it down next to him on the table. "No mention of the fire at the Tipsy Ferret last night," he commented to his wife.

"Too soon, I suppose," she responded lifting the much-needed coffee to her lips for a sip.

The older woman's voice came in from over by the sink. "Such an odd name for a bar," Eloise said, "The Tipsy Ferret."

There was a small ' _clink_ ' as Julia placed her coffee cup back down to its saucer. "I always thought it was because its owner – Constable Hodge, from our … from William's stationhouse," she explained. "Well, I always thought that Hodge bought the bar close to the stationhouse for fellow policemen… And…" she giggled…

And from the other side of the table, William felt _his heart lighten with the sound of Julia's unique and lovely laugh,_ and then he made an effort to _squelch the feeling_ , returning his attention to the newspaper, for he remembered their _arguing_ , and his _disappointment with her,_ and his _anger at her for risking so much_ , and he felt the _pain of wondering if she simply did not value their life together as much as he did._

Julia had gone on, "And, well ' **ferret** ,' you know – "The Tipsy **Ferret** ," like the Constabulary ' **ferrets** out' suspects," she paused, searched the two adult faces. "Well it would be a **bar** for ' **tipsy ferrets'** then, would it not?" she pressed for support.

Straight-man that he was, William responded flatly, "I don't think that was it," and turned back to reading the paper.

Eloise chuckled in the background. Her mind wandered to thoughts of _this Constable John Hodge_. She remembered the man, _loyal to that older detective… that same Chief Inspector Giles who had so vilely pursued the doctor in her husband's murder…_

So often, Julia's humor was underappreciated, and she pushed aside her loneliness with it to help Chelsea retrieve some of her wayward eggs. Then she sipped at her coffee, especially grateful for it today. " _You'll need it more than usual today,_ " she sighed to herself as the reality of their fighting solidified around her, sensing that even if she tried, she would not be able to catch William's eye. A memory intruded, a _very unpleasant_ one, of when she and Darcy used to sit at opposite ends of their, very long and formal, dining-room table, and she discovered that Darcy had cut holes into their morning paper, cutting out stories about William so that she would not be able to see them – " _all done_ …" she reminded herself, " _to keep me under his control_." And she couldn't help but see the irony of being back in that same place, her husband, now, trying to control her through her studies and her professional strivings, just as her husband, back then, had done, and the sense of betrayal hit her hard, and her chin jutted up in response to it unconsciously, defiantly. It was sickening the sudden flood of fury in her belly.

)

William and his son stood side-by-side, hands gripped around the bars of the closed school gate, peering through at the big school building on the other side. "Look in that window there, Master Murdoch," William said, gesturing towards a large window with warm lights on inside. "That might be your classroom. Perhaps your teacher is in there right now," he elaborated trying to bring his son's imagination alive, "decorating the classroom for you."

William Jr.'s little-boy voice asked from down low, "Do you think she'll be pretty?"

And then suddenly, from absolutely out of nowhere, a _sadness_ , a profound and familiar _sadness_ , sweet, and deep, hit William with a wallop… just before the words touched down inside of his head to say, " _Liza was."_ And he realized that his brain had answered his son's question somehow, and then it added, as if to explain, _"Liza had been a teacher._ " William's hand subconsciously, longingly, seeking soothing and solace, reached to the tiny pocket above his lowest ribs to take out and hold his pocket-watch within his palm, and he rubbed his fingers over its cool, smooth, metal, touching to the engraving there, and let himself _almost_ feel the ticking of its small mechanical-heart against his skin, and he noticed that so much time had passed, and he remembered… _that he had loved her._

 _Too long_ , William Jr. looked to his father for the explanation, then added a new dimension to the question, "As pretty as mother?"

William squinted into the brightness of the school building, using it to hide his unexpected flood of emotion. "I'm not sure that's possible son," he said, "I, myself, have never found a woman as beautiful as your mother. But she could be pretty… your teacher, I suppose." His voice brightened, "I would wager, however, that your mother would tell you to pay more attention to her mind, either way, hmm?" he asked as he reached down to cradle the back of William Jr.'s neck, and the boy looked up from so low down below him into his face. "We'd best be getting you back home, Little Man," William said, with a pinching of his lips together. And then they crossed back to where the bicycle waited. "Only one week, now, and you'll be able to see for yourself," William encouraged his young son that he could withstand the anticipation, and that it would be exciting, when the time finally came.

) (

Not long into the morning there was a meeting in the Inspector's office to catch up on the case. Hodge and his barmaid, Miss Quigg, were amongst those gathered as they had come in to the stationhouse and each given their statements to Detective Murdoch. Higgins and Crabtree were both in the office as well because they were assigned to the case. In fact, Crabtree had joined them from his undercover role down in the cells where he had spent the night trying to get a confession out of the detective's main suspect, Mr. Beau Jangles.

"Well sirs," George reported out, "Mr. Beau Jangles was quite drunkenly most of the night. But once the sun came up, the old man seemed to just spring to life. He is quite entertaining, I must say…"

Off to the side, fearing that George was getting off track, diving into one of his tangents as the constable was wanton to do, Detective Murdoch sighed with expected frustration.

Not noting it, George continued, "Do you know, he just up and starts dancing a lick across the cell, out of nowhere," the constable's eyes sparkled with the delight of it. "And he's good, I tell you. An amazing rhythm, and he can jump so high…" George's eyes leapt high to the ceiling, "but then he touches down to the ground, light as a feather," George brought his eyes down to the floor and spread his hands out wide and smooth. "I truly have never seen anything like it…"

"Constable!" Murdoch's tone revealed his impatience, "Did he say anything relevant to solving the case?"

"Oh…" that dawning-look covered George's face – _he had done it again_. He fought the tendency to stammer, "It seems Mr. Beau Jangles remembered nothing of the night before, sir. He thinks he was put in the cells for being drunk. It seems that's quite a common occurrence for him… Beau Jangles says he drinks… 'a bit."

William frowned. "Did you ask him if he knew the burnt man? If he remembered going to the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret?" he pushed.

"I did, sir," George hurried to explain. "I told him I smelled an awful smell of smoke on him… Asked him if remembered why he smelled like that…"

A knock drew all eyes to the door. It was Dr. Ogden. She caught the Inspector's eye through the glass, received his nod, and entered. Her glance to the detective was quick.

"Doctor?" Detective Murdoch greeted.

"Detective," her response, "I thought you'd want to know right away," she said…

And William felt his hopes lift – _she had something!_

Julia's eyes perused the room. "Remember our victim's curled-up fingers…"

Detective Murdoch inserted, "Yes, part of the 'pugilistic stance' due to the heat of the fire…"

"Yes. Yes, exactly," Dr. Ogden felt her own excitement showing. "Well, I believed I might be able to get fingermarks…" she gleed, and then she held up the white card with the distinctive black smudges.

 _Oh, this was more than he could have hoped for…!_ William's heart sang.

"Very good," William declared. "I can compare them to the ones on the whiskey bottle that Beau Jangles had in his hand last night. There were fingermarks on it that did not match those of Mr. Jangles," the detective rushed to planning ahead, "Perhaps they are the victim's," he explained. "And Higgins," he instructed, "please start looking through our records for a match."

"Sir," Higgins nodded.

There was a pause, the detective looking to the doctor. "Is there something more, doctor?" he asked her.

Julia told herself to take a breath, _worried all of a sudden that William was hoping for more than she had_. "Of course, I have not even started my postmortem yet," she reminded.

"Of course, Dr. Ogden," the detective took her reminder as a check. "I am well aware of the complicated and thorough nature of your job," he defended.

" _Prickly,"_ the Inspector noted to himself, thinking that _everyone else would most surely have noticed the coldness between the couple as well._

Julia glanced around the room, acutely aware that there were eyes on them now. _She was finding it hard to breathe._ Pressing on, she answered, "The victim suffered a blow to the back of the skull. He was hit hard…" she held her fingers up in a half-circle to demonstrate the size, "…with something round and heavy – perhaps a pipe, or a baseball bat?" she raised her voice at the end of her statement, unsure. Stronger, she informed, "It would have been fatal," confident that she had added what was _likely_ the cause of death, though it was not yet certain, for she had not yet established if the wound had been withstood by the victim pre or post mortem.

Detective Murdoch stood. "We will need to search the area further," he concluded. "Thank you doctor," he gave rigidly.

"Shall I go with you, sir…" George asked, "to the Tipsy Ferret?"

"No, George," Detective Murdoch answered, "I'd prefer to have you back down in the cells to try to learn more from the suspect."

Julia turned to Hodge. As she began to speak, she felt the attention shift to listen in. "I am sorry about all the trouble at the Tipsy Ferret," she said.

Hodge answered her, his kind and sensitive heart seeking to help her draw attention away from the obvious discomfort she had been experiencing with her husband. "All things considered, it's not that bad," he answered her. "Only minimal damage to the building. It won't affect our serving our customers, I don't think," Hodge glanced over to Miss Quigg who nodded in agreement.

Miss Quigg announced, "The Tipsy Ferret will be opened for business as usual, I assure you. You should all stop in for a drink," she urged, but then remembered Detective Murdoch's soberness, and so she added, "A birch beer for you, detective." She gave the detective a smile, glad for his charming nod in return. _A secret to herself, how handsome she found the detective to be._

And then Julia heard herself ask, "Hodge, how did you ever come up with that name – the Tipsy Ferret?"

"I…" George chuckled from beside her, "I'm afraid that's actually my fault, Dr. Ogden," he said. He dropped his eyes to the floor, giving off an odd mixture of both embarrassment and pride.

 _Now, this only lit Julia Ogden's fiery curiosity even more,_ and her eyes instinctively darted to her husband.

And - _whoosh_ , it hit her with a tickle in her gut as she spied the growing uneasiness on William's face, and his stiffened body language. " _Oh, this had something to do with William!"_ her brain screamed the trinket.

"William?" she asked him, getting no clues back from him.

Her eyes turned to Hodge's. Her voice incredulous, she began to ask the bar-owner, "Constable Hodge," she started, "William is…" but suddenly she remembered their distance, their fighting, and she cleared her throat, and corrected, "My husband is a teetotaler," she stated the well-known fact. "So, how is it possible that you, somehow, named your _**bar**_ after _**him**_? And, why, oh, why… You simply must tell me. What could William Murdoch have to do with a 'tipsy ferret…?"

It had been a while since John Hodge had been the center of attention, and he felt the warm glow of it in his belly. _This was a GOOD story, and it was going to be great fun telling it to the doctor_. The corners of Hodge's mouth curled as he tried to hold back his smile. A bashful man by nature, he instinctively avoided showing off. Hodge started the tale, "I wanted a place where coppers could go to unwind, and shoot the breeze, and most of all, to laugh, sometimes. And, well, truth be told, one of the funniest stories I have ever heard was George's… about the detective…" Hodge paused, certain he should not look in the detective's direction. His words stumbled with the pressure, "H – h – he… Detective Murdoch is so upstanding… and prop - prop- proper in his ways…"

The room nodded vigorously in agreement, urging him on – well, all but for Detective Murdoch, that is, who could be heard letting out a sigh.

Hodge's blue eyes rose to meet those of the doctor. "You see… Julia," _and Hodge noticed he felt comfortable with her, and he told himself that he quite liked this woman-doctor the detective had fallen in love with and married._ He went on, "George has this hysterical tale about the detective and the ferret."

Julia awed, "William… and a ferret?" Her eyes turned to George.

Now, unlike John Hodge, George Crabtree quite enjoyed the spotlight, and given the opportunity, he would most certainly ham it up. "Well doctor," he began with the voice of authority, "Detective Murdoch suspected there was a trail of blood left throughout the hotel where the boxer had been shot. I'm sure you remember the case?" he asked her, "Fannie Robinson, the dead man's negress wife, had been accused of killing him?"

Julia nodded, "Yes. I remember. It's when William established that a blood-splatter pattern would appear on the clothing of the shooter if the shot had been fired at close-range," she marveled for a moment, gave an appreciative glance William's way, then added, "I believe you shot a pig, George."

"Yes, doctor," George admitted, his tone dropping, for he had remembered _the sense of the difficulty he had felt in pulling the trigger at the innocent creature staring back at him, as he wore the white dress, and he worried that, perhaps, pigs had souls…_

"Not a ferret, then?" the doctor teased him.

"No. No, not a ferret. Um…" George traced back through his story, then returned to telling it, "The detective wanted a bloodhound to sniff-out the trail of blood. But Ted Manson's bloodhound wasn't available, and so Ted's son gave me a ferret instead. Detective Murdoch seemed skeptical, but he agreed to give the ferret a try…"

Julia rubbed her hands together. _It was coming together now,_ and she sensed the build-up would well be worth it.

George went on, "Now doctor, these ferrets are slinky, hoppy, things. High energy, and loose in their long sleek bodies. And when the detective and I put this ferret down on the floor, it… well, you know at first, I thought it was going to work, you see, because the ferret, in his own sort of drunken way, appeared to be searching quite intently for something. Like he was hunting for a scent. But he never seemed go straight, instead zigging and zagging, and taking sudden turns back towards us, and then just as quickly back the other way. Actually, he just seemed to be going everywhere. And then all of a sudden…! Well…"

George paused for dramatic effect.

He turned to the doctor and said, "You'll never guess where this fellow went?!"

"No, I guess I probably won't?" Julia encouraged him, herself already prone to giggling, even if she was not specifically sure why she had the urge.

Everyone else in the room was holding it back, already fully aware of where it was that the story was going. There were little bursts, and little gurgles, popping out, here and there, throughout the room. But, the most precious thing of all was the look on William's face. William Murdoch was already crimson in color, and Julia just knew _this was going to be very, very good._

George exclaimed, "Well, that creature suddenly out of nowhere shot straight for Detective Murdoch – and it disappeared up the inside of one of his trouser legs!"

"Oh!" Julia gasped!

Everyone gasped…

"You could see the lump inside, moving higher and higher…" George grabbed at his own leg…

"Oh my!" Julia bounced with glee.

"I told him," George was having trouble getting the words out fast enough, "Guard your sensitive bits, sir! I've been told they bite!"

And off to the side Miss Quigg thought to herself, _"Ooh my, I wouldn't mind nibblin' on that man's sensitive bits myself, if given the chance."_

And the Inspector inserted, red-faced and in a rush, "That bloody slinky squirrel was on a direct route for his nuts…!"

And the whole room absolutely exploded into laughter.

Cheery eyes catching red faces.

It took a while for it to die down.

Julia exclaimed, her hand over her mouth, for she too was laughing quite hard, "Well, we know it all ended well…"

"Oh yes," George answered her, eyes twinkling with delight. "Somehow, the detective…" and suddenly George had an idea, and he said, as he began to demonstrate the moves himself, "Talk about Mr. Beau Jangles dancing…?! You should have seen Detective Murdoch – hopping and jumping and shaking his leg about…!" George hopped up-and-down, there in the Inspector's office, and tried to stifle the motion as he kicked his leg out to the side over and over again. Through his own laughter he finally spit it out, "It was somehow, so 'Murdoch-like.' You know, even THAT, the detective pulled off with a, stiff, sort of dignity…"

And the room burst into laughter all over again.

And, eventually, they all quieted down again.

"Sorry sir," George spoke to the detective to apologize. "But she asked, sir," he then added, with just the tiniest laugh at his own feeble attempt at an explanation.

"It was priceless," Hodge injected the truth of it. "That's why I had to use it as the name, you see."

Julia nodded, falling into giggling once more.

George straightened up and moved to repair the damage he had done. "Your husband was a good sport about the whole thing, doctor," he said. "Why, even later the detective, himself, made a joke about it. You see, after the ferret finally climbed out of the detective's pants, and shot away down the hallway, well, we lost the surly erratic creature… and just before that the ferret had discovered the bloody handkerchief for us in the end. But we had lost it after that, and your husband joked that we would need to call Ted Manson in with his bloodhound to FERRET the little critter out – Get it, doctor, 'ferret' him out?"

And a part of Julia Ogden was suddenly indignant, for she remembered William's own rejection of her very same joke this morning.

She looked to William, who managed a winsome shrug.

And, of course, the room burst into another round of laughter once more. This time, with the detective reluctantly joining in.

Julia teased him, "So, you're famous again," she noted.

"I suppose," William admitted with a sweet wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

And then, there it was, the niggling at him, in the back of his mind – a restlessness that called his attention. "Well, there is work to be done," Murdoch said. "I'll check the fingermarks on the whiskey bottle before we go back to the crime scene," he said walking to the door. He turned back to say, "Thank you, Dr. Ogden."

"Yes, of course," she answered, following him out. "I'm more than glad to do my job," she added, the dig reminding of their earlier troubles.

She did not see it, the detective's frown as he turned away, for he knew he deserved it, and he wished it wasn't this way between them, but it was. It was for now.

" _Still",_ he found himself chuckling and shaking his head at himself as he stepped into his office, " _That was quite a good story, quite a good story indeed."_

 _And it had been good, good to share a laugh._

) (


	6. 6: To Live is to Make Mistakes

Chapter 6: To Live is to Make Mistakes

Through the glass of the Inspector's office windows all eyes watched as the detective and the doctor went their separate ways. Hodge spoke first. "They make an amazing team, those two," he noted for the group.

There was something about John Hodge, an inherent nature to protect those he cared for, to deflect negative things away from them. _He had always cared for young William… well, not quite so young anymore…_ "Who would have thought it possible to get fingermarks from a body in such a state?" he asked, marveling at what the doctor had done, shaking his head with the thought.

The Inspector added, "There is none better when it comes to solving a crime than Murdoch and Ogden, you are right about that Hodge."

George agreed, "Detective Murdoch will figure it all out. Unfortunately, there may be some ruckus in the press… Could hurt business at the Tipsy Ferret for a while, I guess?" he pondered.

"I have every faith in William," Hodge concluded. He gestured towards Miss Quigg and then the door. "Shall we leave them to it, Miss Quigg?" he invited.

Unable to resist, Miss Quigg joked as she headed for the door, "Yes John, I'm sure the detective will ' _ferret'_ this whole thing out." Not waiting for any reactions to her overuse of the pun, she quickly added, "I do so hope it is **not** Mr. Beau Jangles who is the killer, though. I've always quite liked the man."

George piped in, an air of excitement in his voice, "As have I Miss Quigg." George's eyes perused the room. "I… Down in the cells, I was… he was, down and out. And Beau Jangles… It's just he looked to me to be the eyes of age, you see. And despite his misfortune, he spoke right out. He talked of life…" George shook his head, for he knew he would not be able to wholly explain, only those same words to offer, he repeated them, "He talked of life, is all." Then George looked to the Inspector and said, "Sir, I really think the detective is making a mistake with Beau Jangles. Everything in my gut tells me Mr. Beau Jangles is not a man who would kill another."

"Give him time, Crabtree," the Inspector reassured, "You know Murdoch only has two speeds, slow, and dead slow."

"Surely you are right about that Inspector," Hodge said, and the room peppered with a chuckle. "Please come by the Tipsy Ferret later for a drink," he invited as he put on his hat.

"Sure thing, Hodge. Will do," the Inspector bid them farewell.

Finally, alone with his two constables, the Inspector looked to Crabtree. "Our happy couple seemed not so happy?" he queried.

George felt their eyes on him. His words stumbled. "I, err… I think the doctor and the detective may be on the outs."

Brackenreid felt a tickle of intrigue in his heart and he asked, "Oh…? And why wasn't I told?"

And Higgins, too, lit up, "That would explain why the detective has been so…"

"Impatient," George inserted, expecting Higgins was about to say something worse. "He has been rather impatient as of late."

The Inspector had walked to the cabinet where his scotch waited. He scowled, _thinking it was too early_ , then turned back to the two men. "Trouble in Paradise, then. That does explain it," he said.

They looked across the bullpen to observe Murdoch lifting up the card with the fingermarks Dr. Ogden had retrieved from the victim's burnt and curled up fists, comparing them to the ones he had found on the whiskey bottle along with those of Mr. Beau Jangles, his main suspect. The detective's facial expression told the story – _they were not the victim's fingermarks on the bottle._

Higgins felt a gust of worry fill into the pit of his stomach. "I'd best begin looking through the fingermark records for a match, then," he fretted in anticipation of the detective's foul mood, and he rushed for his desk. He closed the Inspector's door on the way out.

"So, Murdoch's in the doghouse then, is he?" the Inspector seemed to gloat with the gossip.

Crabtree leaned close. _Secrets were about to be revealed!_

"He was sleeping on the couch last night, sir," Crabtree whispered.

"Oh?" the Inspector whispered back, "I wonder what our straight-laced detective did to land himself there?"

"It might be the doctor?" George argued.

The Inspector's chest puffed up. "Don't be daft Crabtree," he charged. But, looking back at him, there were only Crabtree's perplexed eyes. There was a huff, perhaps a sigh. The Inspector wrinkled a corner of his mouth and explained, "Oh yes, you aren't married, Crabtree. You wouldn't know, now, would you."

"I suppose not," George answered, deferring to the Inspector's experience in these matters.

Outside in the bullpen, the detective was on the move. "Constable Higgins," he ordered, "We should be going back to the Tipsy Ferret to look for evidence of where this blow to the victim's skull occurred… Maybe find the pipe or the bat or some other similar weapon. Put Constable Fife on the fingermarks detail, for now. Oh, and please bring my murder bag," he gestured through the windows of his office to the murder bag waiting on his worktable. Murdoch leaned in at the Inspector's door. "Constable Crabtree," the air of his displeasure stung, "Please go back down to the cells as I had asked. If Beau Jangles has sobered up enough to…" the detective waived his hand around in the air dismissively, "…dance… then he certainly has sobered enough to spill the beans."

"Yes sir. I'll get back to it, sir," Crabtree replied as he hurried past the detective.

"Detective, a word?" the Inspector held Murdoch back alone.

William's brow furled, _suspicious that a rebuke of some sort was at hand_.

"You seem quite certain this old, drunken negro is your killer," the Inspector stated plainly.

William nodded.

Irritation suddenly overtook the Englishman, rushing his words and reddening his face. "It's not like you, Murdoch!" he steamed, "You're usually slow as bloody molasses!"

Murdoch straightened up, defensive. "There is evidence, sir…"

"Perhaps there's something else putting you on edge, throwing you off your game?" the Inspector prodded.

Their eyes held.

"George told you," William frowned.

The Inspector shrugged.

"I was hoping he would be more discreet," William's simple reply.

"He did wait till Higgins left," the Inspector worked to minimize the damage done. "Higgins, by the way, figures you and the good doctor have been out of sorts for over a week. Is that right?" he dug for more.

William's exhale through pursed lips told that it was so.

"What did you do to land you out on the couch for so long, me old mucker?" the obvious question came.

"Not me…" the words came out to quickly for William to have thought it out. He sighed again, accepting his mistake and steeling himself not to tell more.

"The doctor did something?" the Inspector's eyebrows lifted high.

"Sir," William nodded, the corners of his mouth wrinkling tightly with his loyalties to her, to them, feeling the tug of his betrayal to their privacy. "It's not me this time. Julia would have me back in our bed as soon as naught if she had her way," William reached up to rub his brow, his unconscious tell of his discomfort.

 _Again, with the sighs,_ the Inspector noticed.

Indignant, thinking that _men needed to stick together in matters like these,_ Brackenreid barreled forward, "Bloody hell, Murdoch! I thought you two had a modern marriage… Isn't that what you're always going on and on about? Why doesn't the doctor sleep on the bloody couch then?"

Another sigh. "She has… once, sir. She's offered… but not this time. This time it's completely my choice," William gave with an inner wince at his revealing so much that was personal.

An idea occurred to the Inspector and he asked, "Is it your adopting these two little girls? Are there regrets? Children can add a lot of stress to a marriage…" _That would make sense…_ he thought to himself.

" _In for an ounce, in for a pound_ ," William told himself. "No. No, that's not it. We are truly happy, unbelievably happy, with our family. Julia is a wonderful mother… We, uh… we parent well together." Murdoch rubbed at his brow again, inside his head so many thoughts.

Then Murdoch lifted his eyes to meet the Inspector's. Sadness seeped between them.

William's voice was low, solemn, and he wrinkled the corner of his mouth before he gave his admission, "I… I never thought I could be so fortunate, never even imagined such joy was possible, but…" and he finally found the limit to his disclosure, releasing out the pressure with a sigh through his pursed lips. It was plain that he would say no more.

The Inspector stepped closer. _His voice was kind, and fatherly_ , he thought, as he advised, "Marriage is compromise, me old mucker – surely you know that?"

William's answer would deepen his own hurt. "I'm not sure there is one, here," his reply, truthful, truthful and thought out, and terribly, terribly, sad if it were true.

"Well then, accept it and move on, Murdoch," was the best the Inspector could come up with. The Inspector's urge for a scotch overwhelmed him and he poured himself one. The act suggested to Murdoch that there would be more advice, a story, to come. He twitched with the desire to get away. _The crime scene waited to be found!_ He was feeling irritated.

The inspector sipped the golden liquid reveling in the familiar burn flowing through the deeper realms of his chest. "I'm always trying to get Margaret to stop being so competitive," Brackenreid turned back to Murdoch, "To stop coming up with her crazy ideas about how to get ahead, how to get rich... but she wouldn't be Margaret if she didn't do those things," the Inspector paused waiting for Murdoch's nod. "And she's always trying to stop my drinking," he told the other side of the story, and then defended himself, "But I need it. Takes the edges off," Brackenreid's eyes checked the detective's for disapproval… _Found none_. He reminded himself that _Murdoch was Murdoch_ , _never one much for drinking_. Sensing a need to better explain himself, he went on, "I don't get drunk, just keeps me bold is all. I've seen a lot... in the war, beaten within an inch of my life by the O'Shea's, even had those bloody German spies you and Pendrick got into that mess with drop a bloody bomb on my house - had to live with you! And now Margaret has this crazy idea that I have to make her a dishwashing cupboard…!"

"Sir," William felt the urge to apologize.

"Never mind, Murdoch," the Inspector sat at his desk, took another sip of his scotch and placed it down. "My point is that you just might have to let some things be, me old mucker. It keeps life interesting…" Brackenreid looked out at Crabtree's empty desk, spotted Higgins standing there, tense and nervous with the detective's murder bag in hand. He thought of a way to make his point. "Look at Crabtree for instance. You and me, we're always trying to get him to see how stupid his zany ideas are – zombies, aliens, vampires…"

"Remember the mole people?" William interjected, shaking his head, finally giving a chuckle.

The Inspector lit up, standing to go put his hand to the man's shoulder. "You see! You see there, Murdoch," he cheered, "That's what makes Crabtree Crabtree."

Feeling the support of his friend, William was again reminded of his troubles with Julia, and again he reached up to rub at his forehead, having had become suddenly flooded with doubt that _he could accept THIS. THIS was too frightening – there was too much to lose, too much to lose if Julia got caught._ Unexpectedly, he laughed at a thought, and then he shared it, "Perhaps if I take up drinking…?" he said and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at the Inspector, who laughed and slapped him on the back.

"I'll believe it when I see it," the Inspector smiled. He walked Murdoch to the door. "You'll be alright, Murdoch. Now, it looks like poor Higgins is gonna wet his pants waiting for you, hmm?"

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir," William responded, truly grateful for the friendship.

" _Murdoch taking up drinking!"_ the Inspector shook his head at the thought. The memory of Crabtree jumping around imitating Murdoch with the ferret up his pants-leg played inside his head, followed by George's chuckled words, " _Even_ _THAT, the detective pulled off with a, stiff, sort of dignity,"_ and the Inspector laughed out loud. " _The Tipsy Ferret_ ," his last thought on the matter before he got back to work.

) (

Detective Murdoch stepped back to examine his work on the blackboard. He had a timeline – but still just a _question mark for the time of death_. Sometime _after the killing_ , Miss Quigg heard " _Cats in the Garbage Pails – 10 minutes before she smelled the smoke._ " The body was likely _retrieved from the garbage by the killer at that time,_ retrieved from where it had been _hidden earlier, likely the victim already dead from the blow to the skull_. _Julia would confirm._ There had been _blood on the ground_ , back behind the pails, under the muck, _once again a body left as no more than trash._ It reminded him… _of Lilly Dunn_ , left like so much trash by that slimy abortion doctor after the poor, suffering, terrified young woman had bled out of every orifice, the woman choosing to ingest pennyroyal oil in an effort to rid her body of an unwanted baby, and William felt sickened, sickened with so much – with remembering _his first loss of Julia for doing the same thing herself, in her case procuring an abortion from a monster, before he had met her. And then his losing her again for her to marry Darcy because of what she had mistakenly believed was the cost of her having had that abortion, her mistake in believing that she had been rendered sterile because of it… He had always thought Julia had accepted her sterility as her punishment for making that choice. But then, then there was his own mistake, his own unbelievable demanding that Julia do the same thing with their child, with HIS child, years later, because he could not stand the thought of losing her to death in childbirth. Perhaps, he had thought a life without children was his price to pay for his loving a woman who had committed such sin, and as such he could not have had faith that she would survive the ordeal, despite his belief in science._ A memory flashed of the _gypsy fortune-teller reading her cards_ and warning him that _he would have the woman he loved, but only with great sacrifice._ And he wondered _, had he cheated fate, once again when Julia survived_ , as he had had to ask Miss Pensell about his cheating death when he had survived the arrow to his heart? _Was William Jr. proof of that – proof that he had cheated fate once more? Thank God Julia had convinced him to let her try… Thank God._ He reached up to rub his brow, the pain building and blinding him for the moment. Under the brightness, and the darkness, the questions surged. _Was he about to lose her again? Because she would get caught by the law in the midst of her tireless fighting for young women like Miss Dunn… Because he held too tightly to her that she would leave him for her freedom?_

His eyes focused back on his notes on the case. There had been a black substance left behind on one of the garbage pails – black and greasy, with little lumps in it. He had written, " _Motor Car Grease? – left when body was hidden,"_ on the board. William considered it _annoying, that little doubt in his head – Mr. Beau Jangles did not have a similar substance on him when they had found him at the scene. Perhaps it had been on the victim_. He would need to ask George about it. _George knew about automobiles_. He planned on _examining the lumps in the grease under the microscope. Maybe he would ask Julia her opinion?_

A sigh spilled out of him from encountering his tension with imagining himself in her morgue.

Back to the board. " _No weapon found_ ," his mind complained. " _Perhaps it was a baseball bat – the evidence destroyed in the fire,_ " he offered himself a possible answer.

There was other evidence, in his mind _all pointing to Mr. Beau Jangles as the killer_. Beau Jangles was found 50 feet from the burnt body, and a mere 10 feet from the garbage where the body had been hidden. He was unconscious drunk, and in his possession Beau Jangles had the same type of whiskey bottle as had been burned in the fire, likely used as an accelerant. And Mr. Beau Jangles had the same shoesize as the shoeprints left in the coal dust by the back of the Tipsy Ferret where the body had been burned. William turned his eyes to the worktable where the shoeprint casts waited, next to it the collected black grease.

He sighed. _He would need to talk to George before he interrogated the man_. _But he needed Julia's report as well._ He exhaled a blast of pressurized air out through his pursed lips. _He might as well go get it over with._ William took his sample of the black grease that he had found on the garbage pail, and he tapped his homburg onto his head, headed for the morgue.

) (

Dr. Ogden was elbow-deep in the victim's charred body when she heard the large, heavy morgue door slam behind the detective. She had been preparing herself emotionally for William's inevitable visit ever since their uncomfortable display in front of all the others in the Inspector's office earlier. " _Professional Julia,"_ she coached herself, " _Act professional."_

Still, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Detective," her own solid voice impressed her, "I do have some preliminary results."

"Very good," William clamped his lips together and gave her a slight bow with his head. Hat down on the nearby work station, she noted he had brought something with him.

"What have you there?" she asked, taking her hands out of the body and heading for the sink. "Some evidence, I suppose? You found something when you returned to the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret?" she washed and eyed the black substance on his handkerchief. " _That was ruined now,"_ she heard herself note about his handkerchief.

William needed a breath. He nodded nervously to her again. She dried her hands as she walked to him.

"Yes," he started. "There was blood on the ground. The body must have been hidden there for a time before Mr. Beau Jangles returned to the scene and burned it. Um… he hid the body in the garbage, it seems. And he left this…" William gestured towards his grease sample, "I found it… It appeared to have been rubbed off of either the killer or the victim onto one of the garbage pails." William shifted nervously, "If the… um, victim had had such grease on his clothing… or elsewhere, it would have burned in the fire. So, I suppose it's possible it was on the victim rather than on Mr. Beau Jangles. I noted no such substance on the suspect when we found him."

"I see," Julia said, looking closer at the black-colored, sheeny smudge. She noticed the small lumps in it.

William cleared his throat. "I was… um, I was hoping you could examine it…"

"Curious little pieces of something in it," she said, already preparing a slide for the microscope.

"Yes," William answered, wishing he had his hat in his hands to wring at. Awkwardly, he placed his hands in his pants-pockets.

As Julia put the slide in on the stage under the scope and she sat to focus it, he elaborated on his thoughts. "I uh, I think we will find that either Mr. Beau Jangles or the victim worked with motor cars. I um… um, I think it may be engine grease…?"

"That seems highly possible," Julia gave, deciding to cut one of the small lumpy pieces into a much thinner slice to examine it further. She noted to herself that _William was still assuming the killer was Beau Jangles_. It reminded her of the conversation she had had with him so many years ago when _she was reporting her findings to him on the body of the man William's father was accused of killing, and William repeatedly referred to the killer as 'Harry' as he spoke…_

"I think I may need to pull Constable Crabtree out of his undercover role down in the cells with the suspect," William said, leaning closer to glimpse down at Julia's newly prepared microscope slide. "George owns his automobile repair shop. He would know who to question about employees…"

Julia interrupted. There was the slightest gasp. It lifted William's hopes that she had found something significant.

"Your automobile grease has some sort of living tissue in it… It is plant-based. There are cell walls. See?" she invited William to take a look. "Perhaps some sort of wood-pulp?" she proposed. Then she brightened, "William…" she corrected, "Detective… I think it might be cork."

"Oh," he replied, seeing the tiny rows of boxes for himself through the objective of her microscope. "I believe they use cork in automobile engines!" William declared.

"Do they?" Julia asked, happy to have made him happy.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. For gaskets… to seal the metal parts together," he said. "The cork is watertight. I'll have to ask George!" he was excited to be moving forward. "Thank you doctor," he gave, looking into her face for the first time since he had arrived.

There was a lingering, tempting and uncomfortable, inner decisions being made.

William ended it. He glanced to the body on the slab. "And what have you on your preliminary look at the body, doctor?" he asked her.

"The victim was a man in his late twenties, based on his teeth. I would say he was most probably negroid," she ran off her discoveries thus far. Dr. Ogden drew the detective's eyes to the body's eye-sockets and brow, suggesting the shape of those particular structures provided her evidence of race. "I would say he was in very good health," she added. Then Julia found herself questioning whether to add her own thoughts on what may have been the dead man's likely profession, worrying that it would only provide further evidence for William to use in his belief that Beau Jangles was the killer. She reminded herself that it was _her job to give him her findings, and it was his, as the detective on the case, to draw conclusions from them. That decided_ , she said, "He was very flexible. Yet, he suffered multiple strains and injuries in the past…," she pointed down towards his feet, "To his ankles. Despite the contracting of the tendons and ligaments in the high heat of the fire, there is still significant evidence of Achilles tendonitis, an inflammation of the tendon in the back of the ankle that connects the prime mover for pointing of the toes, and jumping, and turning."

"Your conclusions doctor?" William was growing impatient.

Unable to hide her small frown, she answered, "I think he was a dancer."

"Like our Mr. Beau Jangles, then," William stated, mind made up before he had even taken the time to notice his jump from assuming Beau Jangles or the victim had been employed as an automobile mechanic.

Julia stepped back from the body, then closer to William, drawing him to turn away from the slab and to face her. Her voice was low, and it was clear between them that there had been a shift, a change from their being colleagues working on a case together to their being more intimate. The tension of it tingled within them both, charged with their familiarity as well as fear. They were on shaky ground.

She avoided using either his name or his title in addressing him. "You seem single-minded about Mr. Beau Jangles' guilt, but there's nothing seeming to directly link him to the murder," she held.

"Beau Jangles had both means and opportunity. He was only 50 feet from the body… Inebriated. Men are capable… more capable of committing such heinous acts when in such a state. You know that," William defended.

"And what of motive?" Julia found herself becoming more assertive. In her head she coached herself to _pull back or risk pushing him too far._

"I'm working on that," William answered. He frowned, a part of himself agreeing he had made a mistake in his hasty conclusions, another deeper part of himself feeling an intolerable call to hold the guilty responsible. "I will need an identity of the dead man… if I can't get a confession…"

Julia looked back to the body, sensing William's eyes following hers. Her deep breath signaled she was about to push further against him. "And I would point out that moving the victim's body from where it was hidden behind the garbage pails to the coal-chute window at the back of the Tipsy Ferret would have been difficult," she took a quick glance William's way – _he was considering it._ She focused back to the body and added, "And Mr. Beau Jangles was very drunk. He wasn't even conscious when we found him. Constable Fife thought he was dead! It would seem unlikely that he could have been able to carry the body that distance, and start the fire, and all before moving away down the alley, and then passing out.

For a split second, they shared a look. Julia saw it then, _William hanging on by just a thread. It toppled her, and her instincts to care for him overflowed._

"William," such tenderness in her voice, "You must consider that because the victim was a drunk... a drunk, and old, like your father… that you may have to watch yourself … I think, um, when your suspect fits that bill, when your suspect reminds you so much of your father. I think you're more likely to make mistakes then."

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, but then huffed away his momentary slip with a sudden influx of annoyance. "No," he stated firmly, "There is clear evidence. Perhaps the mistake is yours," a sense of indignation entered his tone, "I am not one of your psychiatric patients, Dr. Ogden," he insisted, "I neither need, nor want, your analysis." He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. _Suddenly, it was all too much for him. He wanted out._

Still tender with him, she tried to support him, "This all must be very hard for you."

His hat was already in his hands. He was already headed for the door. "I'm fine!" he insisted, despite the irony and the reality that he obviously was not.

Only a few seconds… till the loud bang sounded, of the big morgue door echoing through.

) (

Detective Murdoch had Mr. Beau Jangles brought up from the cells into the Interrogation Room. He would make the man wait. George Crabtree was glad to be free of his undercover role. He stood with the detective in the detective's office giving his report. According to Crabtree, Mr. Beau Jangles never came close to admitting to killing the man found burned near where he had been arrested.

The news was received with a frown from Murdoch. " _It was worth a try,"_ he told himself about his plan of putting George in the cells undercover.

George continued his report, "He described himself as incapable of doing such a thing – he was sure of it. I'm inclined to believe him, detective, based on the hard life, the hard, hard, times, he's been through, and still remaining kind in spite of it all," George explained, then peeked at his notes. "I err, I told Beau Jangles I was a writer," he offered with a quirky twist at the corner of his mouth, "to justify my notetaking."

"I see," Murdoch nodded at him.

George took a deep breath, _and Murdoch felt his familiar impatience begin brewing, suddenly expecting a long-winded story._ "Mr. Beau Jangles spends a great deal of time behind bars it seems – he says he 'drinks a bit,' and it gets him into trouble – but never violence, sir," George rushed to add. "He seems quite a peaceable man to me, one who takes his licks if need be… A man who has gotten good at avoiding trouble."

"Up until now," Detective Murdoch interjected sarcastically.

George felt the dig, replying, "So it seems." A memory flashed, followed by George's assertion to himself that there were countless other times like it, times when the detective fought to find all the evidence before assuming someone was guilty. The memory started with George seeing _himself stuffed tightly into a white dress and being told by the detective to shoot the dead pig that was sitting staring back at him. Detective Murdoch thought the suspect was innocent – was trying to prove it with blood-spatter evidence. "That suspect, too, was negro, a negress… And all the world except for Murdoch presumed her to be the killer…"_ Suddenly, it felt up to him to help the detective see the error of his ways. "Actually, Mr. Beau Jangles claims to remember nothing before being roused to consciousness by the constables, and shoved into the paddy wagon, and then brought down into the cells. He has no employment, makes a slim living out of dancing for money, and drinks, mostly at bars and places he calls 'honkey-tonks.' He said he frequented the Tipsy Ferret, nearly every night, but he didn't think he went there last night. He claimed to be a loner. No woman. No close friends. Perhaps it's explained by the suffering he's been through. The man was born into slavery, sir, in the American south. He and his mother and a few others escaped, but they were recaptured and returned to their owner. His mother was killed after they were returned, as were all the others, except for Beau Jangles. He was considered too young to know any better. They used bloodhounds to hunt them down sir. He was just a young boy, and completely alone in such a harsh world… And still sir…" George found himself awing, "he dances."

There was a strange swelling in George's chest and in his throat. He _could not deny it, he had been touched by this Mr. Beau Jangles,_ and now he realized that _it might be he himself, rather than the detective, who was making the mistake, having been taken by the old man's charm, by his heartbreaking, and lonely, and yet still hopeful, story. Mr. Beau Jangles had had a rough life, that was clear._ A flash ran in George's mind, remembering _the look on Detective Murdoch's face last night in the alleyway when he found the photograph of Beau Jangles with his dog…_

"You know, sir," George looked deeper into William's face, "Beau Jangles had this dog."

William felt an upsurge of emotion. He blew out the pressure through pursed lips, dropped his eyes down to George's notebook.

George went on, "He spoke, with tears, of how for fifteen years his dog and him traveled about. The dog up and died…" George felt the unexpected lump scratch at his throat, "He up and died. After twenty years Beau Jangles still grieves – cries, sir, the old man cries, like it-breaks-your-heart, cries, but with all he's suffered, it's only that, that seems to break him." George took a deep breath.

The detective stiffened his shoulders. "What of the murder, Constable?" he barked.

Disappointment on his face, George glanced back to the notes. "Beau Jangles says he's been falsely accused of crimes in the past, in the States. He's done time. The way he described it, he was luckier than some… some who ended up lynched. That's why he keeps his head down here. He seems truly grateful for what he has. It's quite remarkable really. I found him to be rather inspiring, truth be told."

Abruptly turning to his worktable, the detective fought the urge to pound his fist down in frustration. His teeth were gritted tight, and he was aware of feeling relieved that he was facing away from George so that he could not be seen. He managed to sound in control, "Thank you Constable," he said. "We won't be needing you undercover any longer."

"Good, sir," George replied from behind the detective. He headed for the door, but paused, waiting for instructions.

"Please look into Mr. Beau Jangles. Two avenues – ask around at bars and taverns and these 'honkey-tonks,' and also vaudeville acts, minstrel shows and the like, and…" William reached up to rub his brow, annoyed with himself for leaving his grease sample behind in the morgue. "I had wanted you to ask you something else, constable," William changed the subject and turned back to face George.

"Sir?" George replied.

"At the crime scene I found what appeared to be engine grease on a garbage pail where the body had been hidden. To your knowledge, do car engines have any parts that include cork?" the detective asked.

"Why yes, sir. In the carburetors… The gaskets are cork," he answered.

William took a deep breath, "Good. George, did Mr. Beau Jangles say anything to you about working with automobiles, or perhaps with machines, in a factory, say?"

George shook his head, "No. Nothing like that, sir."

William frowned. "Well perhaps it was the victim," he thought out loud. "Still, could you please show around a photograph of Beau Jangles at the other automobile repair shops," and then he added, "Ask if any employees have gone missing as well."

"Sir," George nodded.

"If we get nothing, we'll have to move on to the factories," Murdoch planned.

"Right away, sir," George answered. "Anything else?" he asked stepping to the threshold.

"See if Fife has gotten anywhere with the fingermarks," William requested.

With a nod, George stepped out.

) (

"I did not kill that man," Mr. Beau Jangles asserted once more.

Detective Murdoch charged, "Why should I believe you? The man is found dead, his body burned to a crisp in a fire, set using the same type of whiskey you had with you. And you being found only 50 feet from the body. The victim, like yourself a negro. How do you explain that?"

"Well…" Mr. Beau Jangles reached up to rub at his forehead. There was a muffled groan. "It's all a bit fuzzy…"

"You were too drunk to remember how you wound up in the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret! The last thing you say you remember was being alone in your room drinking some whiskey!" Murdoch leaned in across the interrogation table, "Maybe you got yourself too drunk to remember killing him."

"I did not kill that man!" Beau Jangles raised his voice.

"No?" Murdoch's eyebrow shot up in judgement. "How do you know for certain, if you can't remember? Or maybe you're just lying," William's distaste soured his face.

Mr. Beau Jangles felt it looming around the edges of the room, moving in from all sides, the shadows of preconceived ideas that can't be changed, and with them the hopelessness. He knew only one way, one way when it got this dark – and that was to appeal to his humanity. "I know I wouldn't. I know I wouldn't kill somebody. Haven't you ever forgotten something?" the deep eyes of age peered into William's with the question. _Personal – it had touched_. "It still doesn't change who you are…" Beau Jangles continued, "If you would not kill, then you would not kill."

Flashes of thoughts flickered through William's brain, of being _in Bristol with Ana Fulford. He had forgotten everything! But not from drinking. No, much more dignified than that excuse. He had suffered a blow to the head while investigating a shooting he had witnessed. He could not even remember who he was! He had been forced to confront the possibility that he was a killer. It was Ana who convinced him not. Though_ _ **, he had felt it, his sureness that he was not the sort of man who would kill another.**_ Suddenly, he remembered the _remorse he had felt in the library after shooting the man who had been aiming his gun at Ana._ In his heart, William _had to agree, he could know he would not have done it, if he were in Mr. Beau Jangles' shoes._ He heard Ana's voice in his head, _"'Sides, I've met killers. Met two this evening. And you don't have the look. You've soft eyes. Kind eyes…"_ Raging contradictions filled his head, on the one hand telling him that Mr. Beau Jangles was right because it's true, _we are who we are even without our memories_ , and Mr. Beau Jangles was wrong because William had come to learn that _anyone was capable of killing_. And then he remembered the metallic ' _click_ ' sound of Gillies' revolver as he pulled the trigger, willing to kill the man to save William Jr. from the lethal injection of morphine that Gillies held at his baby-son's throat, and the love of his life upstairs tied to the bed and wired up to a bomb that would explode if Julia's heartbeat got too fast with her terror. _He would have killed. He had tasted the satisfaction of that victory,_ only spared the guilt of it because there had not been a bullet in the chamber, and as a result of that fate to have been granted the opportunity to follow through with his plan to merely wound and knock-out the evil James Gillies, rendering him unconscious with a rubber bullet and saving the day.

The detective reached up to rub at his forehead. Beau Jangles looked on. He sensed the man had seen a glimpse of him, for he himself _had seen a glimpse of the man behind this detective's badge._ In his heart Beau Jangles felt a fluttering, _a whisper of hope that this man before him, this man with all the power when he himself had none, would be able to see the truth._

There was a knock at the door. Odd, how the sound communicated the hesitation. Both men shifted their gazes to the mesh screen to see the pretty female figure standing behind it.

"Our pathologist," William explained, standing.

He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "Dr. Ogden," he complained, "I'm in the middle of an interrogation."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sorry to interrupt detective," she held his eyes, a hint of a reprimand, a reminder that he was one to tend towards respect rather than disdain and bad manners mingled in the air between them.

William frowned.

Julia determined the gesture was directed at himself.

"There were some findings I thought you should be aware of," she led with, deciding not to rub it in that he had been the one to rush out without hearing her complete report. "The was no smoke in the victim's lungs…"

A surprisingly big sigh surged out of William's chest. "He was dead before the fire then," he concluded with relief, at least for that.

"Yes," she gave. Her eyes dropped down to his dirtied handkerchief in her hand, smudged and ruined with his grease sample on it. "I thought you might want this back," she said plainly.

"I was rude," he admitted with a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth…

And Julia remembered the _sweet moment_ _when he had come to her in the park as she had finished her coaching of a group of women through some breathing exercises to ward off consumption, and he had offered her his deliciously 'awkward' apology for doing the same thing all those years ago_. And her heart trembled a bit with her loving him.

"I'm sorry…" _he wanted to say so much more_ , but yielded to not doing so, instead just clamped his lips tight and nodded to her. He took the handkerchief from her. Needing to conceal it from the suspect, he folded the grease stain inside of it, and tucked it into his trousers pocket.

She straightened, squared her shoulders, professionalism in her tone. "The stomach contents may help with time of death. He had eaten only about two hours before he was killed. There was alcohol, and also peanuts," she reported. Her mind darted to William's request last night that she take a blood sample from the suspect, the blood he had figured would provide evidence that the old negro drunken man had been sufficiently inebriated to have lost control and committed the murder. There was a tiny stab of worry _, for she still did not have the results, and with the topic now turned to include the consumption of alcohol she anticipated that William would be reminded to ask after it_. With the thoughts of Mr. Beau Jangles from last night suddenly in her mind, her eyes lifted now to consider the man sitting in the chair at the other end of William's intimidating interrogation table. There was a flash of her, herself, sitting right there in that same chair while being questioned by Chief-Constable Giles – " _Doctor,_ " she heard his snide voice ask her, " _do you have a romantic interest in the detective? I notice that you sometimes refer to him by his Christian name…"_ Then even worse, amazing that a few years later Chief-Inspector Giles would be persecuting her about Darcy's murder, she then the doomed suspect… So real, Julia felt _the rigid wooden chair underneath her buttocks, she remembered fidgeting with her purse_. Giles said it so coldly, " _Dr. Ogden, I have to be honest. With the preponderance of evidence, I am looking at_ _you_ _as our primary suspect."_ She heard herself reply, dumfounded, _"I didn't do it."_ And Giles dismissed it, snarky and untrue, he said, " _And if that's true, you have very little to worry about,"_ and then he let her know his true opinion of her, striking such horror in her heart as he commented, his disdainful stare down at her dress, " _I must say it's a surprise not to see you wearing widow's black. How very modern…"_ Such an uneasy queasiness spilled through her that she had to push the thoughts away.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Beau Jangles caught her eye through the mesh. He winked, and then he stood…

Julia felt William turn to see as well…

Beau Jangles tipped his pretend hat to her, and he bowed down to her, deep and slow and charming. And then helaughed, clicked his heels, and he stepped out from behind the table.

Not sure why he did so, William opened the door, and he and Julia stepped in.

He said his name, "Beau Jangles," and he danced a lick… across the room. He grabbed his pants, a better stance, and he tapped, and he zoomed. He jumped so high, jumped so high. Then he lightly touched down. He let go a laugh, a laugh, that flipped frowns. Pushing back… his baggy pants, his feet, a blur, his rhythmical dance… a whirl. And those who saw caught a lift to the soul. His final stomp, a solid clomp, then his bow ended his cajole. Mr. Beau Jangles… Mr. Beau Jangles… danced.

Julia applauded, a big smile on her face.

William stood, stiffly, as was his style. _But in his eyes…_

 _Both she and Mr. Beau Jangles saw it there…_

 _There was a twinkle._ And yet, at the same time, with an air of déjà vu, there was a barely conscious noticing inside his head, in that odd greenish light that his visions often had, when his mind seemed to go faster than the waves, bending them with the speed. " _There was something… about_ _ **his shoes**_ ," and a part of William thought it then, then for the first time, but it was pushed away so very quickly that it feathered into the distance becoming nothing more than smoke, " _He didn't do it."_

"Mr. Beau Jangles," the detective's voice signaled a return to the questioning, "My pathologist here, Dr. Julia Ogden…"

Beau Jangles nodded to her, "Pleased to meet you, mam," he said.

William went on, "Dr. Ogden has concluded that, like yourself, the victim was also a dancer."

Mr. Beau Jangles shrugged. "Lots of men make a livin' with their feet, detective," he minimized the connection.

"Her findings also conclude he was a negro," the charges built.

Another shrug.

The detective's jaw clenched. "Who was the victim, Mr. Beau Jangles? Who was the man you burned to crisp after you killed him?"

The fear in the old man's eyes widened. He worked to calm himself. Deferential, he returned to his chair. "I do not know, detective, I assure you I do not know," he said with his eyes glued down on the twisting knots of wood the tree had grown that now made the table. "I cannot tell you anything that I do not know," he said, his voice low.

William rubbed at his brow. "You may go, Dr. Ogden. Thank you for your report," he dismissed her, hoping to no longer to feel the weight of her eyes on him. Detective Murdoch slipped his hands into his pockets, finding there the handkerchief. " _Check the suspect for grease marks_ ," his inner-voice reminded him.

The detective stepped closer to the suspect. "Could you please stand," he instructed.

Beau Jangles obliged. He stood at attention while the detective examined him head-to-toe, front-to-back.

There was no sign of grease on either Mr. Beau Jangles or his clothing… But…!

Something drew William's eye, with a jolt of discovery. " _On his pants!"_ _There was a white, chalky substance smeared on his pants. William recognized it! He had seen the exact same type of smudges before – he was certain of it._ The detective's head tilted to the side, the light took on its greenish hue. " _On another man's trousers…"_ he remembered it specifically, " _A much fancier suit…"_ he grew closer… " _ **Billiards!**_ " the word screamed out at him – " _Billiards! It's the chalk men use when playing billiards!"_

William forced himself to take a breath, to slow down, to catch up to himself. "Do you play billiards?" he asked Beau Jangles.

Mr. Beau Jangles answered quickly, "No. No I never took to the game."

William pressed, "Do you… entertain, do your dancing, at any places where there are billiards tables, then?"

Beau Jangles paused, ran through his memories. "I do," he answered. "They have some tables at the poolhalls, where folks bet on the horses. I don't – never got tangled up in gamblin' myself." He looked into the detective's eyes and added, "But, there'll be some good tips from men that win, I'll tell you that."

"Were you at such a poolroom last night?" William finally felt he was getting somewhere.

Fear poured back into Beau Jangles. _Could this be more evidence against him? Could it provide him with an alibi…?_ His heart jumped with the hope. "I told you, detective… sir. Last thing I remember about last night was just before dinnertime. I was alone in my room, drinkin' as I already said. Now, I had plans to go out, get myself some business. And, if I did, I mighta gone over to Papa's Poolroom. But I don't remember doin' that. I don't remember anything from when I was in my room till I was bein' arrested," he said, finally giving the detective something to go on.

) (

Things moved quickly on the case with that one clue exposed. The establishment called 'Papa's Poolroom' was a busy poolhall, and there were billiards tables there. Mr. Beau Jangles danced there nearly every night. There were multiple reports that Mr. Beau Jangles had showed up there last night, and it turned out that he had made quite a scene. He had had an altercation, he had been heard yelling after a man who turned out to have previously been Mr. Beau Jangles' partner in an act for the _Weist Big Minstrel Jubilee_ , a Mr. Ernie Williams. The constabulary learned that a few weeks ago Mr. Beau Jangles and Mr. Williams had had a falling out over their disagreement about being willing to wear blackface makeup when performing. Beau Jangles found it to be demeaning, as both men were already negros, so there was no need to make themselves appear to be dark-colored. Mr. Beau Jangles had walked out on the act, thus becoming unemployed, after Mr. Williams refused to stop wearing the makeup. But things got significantly worse for Mr. Beau Jangles once multiple witnesses reported that a man matching Mr. Beau Jangles' description, " _a drunken, older, negro man, dressed in ragged clothes,"_ was overheard rambling Mr. Williams' name, and about a grievance he had with Mr. Williams over Williams' _'selling out to the Boss' –_ and this man had been seen with a baseball bat in hand. And further, that he had been witnessed smashing out one of the lamps at Papa's with said bat, before he was then observed following after Mr. Williams in the direction of the Tipsy Ferret.

Mr. Beau Jangles' guilt in the murder seemed all but certain when it was found out that the fingermarks Dr. Ogden had retrieved from the victim matched those found in the room of Mr. Williams, and thus it was determined that Mr. Williams was the victim. And as a result of all this, Detective Murdoch felt he had the case sewn-up. Mr. Beau Jangles was the killer – he had motive, means, and opportunity. He was seen with the weapon, pursuing the victim. He was found inebriated at the scene of the crime, with evidence in hand that he had started the fire. The only thing Detective Murdoch lacked was a confession. He decided to let the old man stew in the cells for the weekend, figuring Mr. Beau Jangles would be ready to confess by Monday.

) (

Julia clicked out the lights in the morgue. She couldn't help but sigh, for she was heading home, and she couldn't help but feel her own trepidation with knowing that _tonight, most certainly tonight, she and William would need to talk_. He had ridden his bicycle to work this morning. It seemed like such a long time ago… he had taken William Jr. on his practice-run to school. As she stepped out into the street, her plan to wave down a cab, her eyes dwelled on the sight of William's office window. A memory fired in her head – of years and years ago when _she had looked at that same window, that night after she and William had fought so badly, after she had learned that he had punched Darcy, and thus spoiled her chance at getting Darcy to ever grant her a divorce. It had been lovely, their heart-to-heart talk that night, she and William snuggled together in his reclining chair, baring their souls to one another._ Another sigh pulled her out of the memory. _Perhaps she should stop over to see William before going home_ , she considered. _She did have relevant evidence in the case_. There had been laudanum in Mr. Beau Jangles' blood, along with an astounding amount of alcohol. _But – and she was sure of this – the presence of laudanum in the suspect's blood would cast doubt on his guilt. And that, she was certain, would only serve to upset William more._ _Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps she was just yielding to her own worries_ , but Julia decided _she would tell him later. Doing so would give William the weekend to let the impact settle in,_ she reasoned to herself.

) (

Stationhouse #4 was quiet as William crossed the bullpen heading for home. He paused, to his left – out of the stationhouse to his bicycle, straight ahead – down to the cells, where Mr. Beau Jangles would be sitting alone. William considered his plan to leave the man there for the weekend. _The evidence against him was overwhelming. Yet, Beau Jangles had seemed truly surprised to learn the dead man had been his partner in the act. He had claimed not to own a baseball bat – to never have even played the game. Plainly, he had denied being the man all the witnesses reported going after Ernie Williams last night._ Like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with one of the pieces jammed into a place where it didn't fit… it bothered him. There was a huff, the outward sign of William's accepting his decision.

With the door down the stairway to the cells pulled opened, William had expected silence, but instead he heard the taps and slides of Mr. Beau Jangles' dancing echoing up off of the walls. A magical wonder took him, stopped him there in his tracks. _Mr. Beau Jangles danced, danced when he was completely alone, behind bars, doomed to be hung – and right here and now, with all of that weighing down on the man, he danced._

It was the tapping – the wooden claps that made the music of the dance, that caught in his mind. And William remembered… _He already knew_ , a secret breeze whispered it to him, " _He didn't do it."_

The sound of the detective's footsteps down the steps went unnoticed, and he rounded the corner. Beau Jangles caught his eyes as they followed his steps through the bars.

He stopped dancing and greeted, "Detective Murdoch."

William asked him, "You dance… alone?" and then he opened his hands wide and toured his eyes around the snug confines of the cell. "I did not expect it," all he could say to explain what he was feeling.

Mr. Beau Jangles explained, "Well… I wouldn't be me if I didn't dance. I'm me, here alone. I'm me, when others are here too. Imprisonment, oppression can't take some things from you, detective. Put a bird in a cage, and still it sings. Put Mr. Beau Jangles behind bars, and still he dances. You, you would still solve your puzzles, even if trapped in a dungeon somewhere, no?"

The irony of William's next question escaped him, but not so with Beau Jangles, who caught it, who spotted that the detective had already folded into his own nature without being aware of it.

"May I see your shoes?" Detective Murdoch asked him, the detective's eyes down to Mr. Beau Jangles' feet.

"Most certainly, detective," Beau Jangles answered, and he reached down to take off one of his worn-out shoes.

William took it through the bars. He turned the shoe over and slid his fingers over the added piece of wood at the heel. "These wooden…"

"Taps. I call them 'taps,'" Beau Jangles said.

"These 'taps' look to be fairly new…" Murdoch said.

Mr. Beau Jangles' reply knocked William off kilter. "You wear a wedding ring, detective. A loyal man… That does not surprise me," their eyes met, William's expressing worry at being exposed.

Mr. Beau Jangles smiled.

The detective took a deep breath, coping.

"The pretty doctor, is it?" Beau Jangles spoke right out.

William's jaw dropped a bit, _amazed this stranger could deduce so much._

Beau Jangles chuckled, and, ever so slightly, his cheeks pinkened with a blush. "You are a handsome man. She is a beautiful woman. There was a… 'fit' between you, like two became one, just natural, just happened, when you two were together. The lady has a joie-de-vivre, a perfect match with your stoic groundedness. 'Sides, she'd be the type of woman a man'd wear a ring for."

William wanted the microscope off of himself and Julia, despite being impressed. "And you…? Is there a Mrs. Beau Jangles?" he asked.

"No. No I've never been so fortunate to find such a love. I needs to keep movin' you see. Something 'bout having been enslaved… makes it easy to become claustrophobic. Such a life only works when you're alone – that type of freedom." Beau Jangles thought of his dog, considered sharing his heartache with the detective. He decided not. "What of the shoes, detective?" he closed the intimacy between them.

) (

The family sat together in the warm lamplight of their living room, with the summer evening breezes blowing through the opened windows, listening to Julia read them a story before the children's bedtime. Three-year old Chelsea was nestled on her Daddy's lap with him, the two of them dipped back in his reclining chair. Katie and William Jr. were each snuggled up to a side of their mother, William Jr.'s head on her lap below the book, and Katie soaking in the lovely vibrations of her mother's voice against her cheek and her ear as she rested into the softness of her mother's chest.

Sensing the time was becoming late, Julia decided she had reached a good point in the story to stop. "That's all for tonight," she said, bracing herself for the children's complaints, and closing the book loudly enough to ensure the sound asserted the definiteness of her decision.

"No, Mommy. Please, just a little more," Katie requested quietly, her voice muffled into Julia's body.

The weakness of the five-year old's persuading prompted her mother to tip in close to her head and whisper, "You are very sleepy, Little One," and give her daughter's silky blond hair a kiss. Julia placed the book down and then ran her fingers through William Jr.'s delicious black curls. _Happiness, pure and simple, in that moment._ She glanced over to William and became enchanted by the beauty of the sight of their little three-year old daughter in her father's arms, sitting with him chest-to-chest, sucking her thumb and soothingly stroking her fingers over and over again across the outer edges of her tiny little ear. Her Daddy was looking down at her, so lovingly, taking in the scent of her soft, curly red hair, touching to her lightly for a kiss. A thought whisked into Julia's mind, _a wish to hold that lovely sight for all of time, somehow her imagination running forward through years and years, knowing that this moment was both precious and fleeting_. Her voice announced the impulse, "What a beautiful photograph," she exclaimed. She would make an attempt to capture it, excitedly sending William Jr. and Katie on an important mission to go to retrieve their father's camera and its tri-pod from his downstairs workroom. Spontaneity paid off, the picture was clicked, and then for fun, they took a few more.

)

The girl's bedroom door was pulled closed just enough to leave a sliver of light across the floor and up the wall, William and Julia paused together in the hallway, and each quietly exhaled. _The time for their talk was drawing near._ They walked together to the top of the staircase. Seeking as much comfort as possible, Julia suggested they talk over shared cups of hot chocolate.

"Very good," William agreed, grateful for the idea.

They chose their familiar midnight-talk seats at the kitchen table, closer than where they usually sat for their meals with the whole family, around a corner of the table from each other. Thinking it would be better to ease into their troubles by starting with the topics of the day first, Julia decided she would bring up the case. There was a jolt in her stomach with that thought, however, for right behind it came the _reminder that she had yet to tell William about the laudanum in his main suspect's blood._

Thankfully, William spoke up at that moment.

"Do you think we could put off our talk…" he boldly said, "Just for a little while," his eyes touched hers, then dropped away. "I… I, uh… I feel a strong need to work out, to lift some weights, to strain my body," he told her, then hurried to explain – but first an exhale. _There was pressure, so much pressure_.

Julia's heart had sunk, disappointed. It was the _heavy, heavy, sensation_ of it that made it abundantly clear to her that _she couldn't take their being parted like this any longer_ , despite her fear of fighting with him further to try to come to a resolution. It was obvious that her fears were outweighed by her missing him. She reminded herself that the _Inspector always said William had two speeds – slow and dead slow._

"I'm frustrated," he blurted out.

"Oh?" Julia asked, thinking to herself that William's frustration was with them, with their troubles. And _she had to admit, she was frustrated too._

"The case," he said…

And she felt a cascading of memories of all the millions of times she had found herself surprised with William's obsession with working his cases. The strongest one standing out right now, pulling her mind's attention, was of _when they first were taking dancing lessons before the Dinosaur Ball._ She heard William's voice in her head – " _Doctor, may we discuss the case as we dance?"_ And then suddenly, Julia had to work to stifle a giggle – for she had remembered _the sight of William so stiffly 'assuming the position…' His arm jerked, straight-as-an-arrow, out to his side, and his other arm bent at the elbow, rigid as a stone, waiting for her to step into it…_

William had reached his fingers up to rub at his brow. And he had, again, exhaled a hot blast of his pent-up pressure out through his pursed lips. His eyes darted up to meet hers, "Mr. Beau Jangles is not the killer," he said.

 _Oh, Julia was impressed with him, and relieved… and curious_.

"What makes you think so?" she asked.

"Remember when he danced for you?" William led.

"Mr. Beau Jangles danced for **both** of us William – and yes, I remember," she replied. The memory bubbled up in her mind and she added, "It was delightful."

And then she bounced up in her chair, and she wiggled at him, and it shot straight to his heart, and lightning-bolted down lower, tingling the familiar pathway. _All resistance had disappeared, and he felt a smile on his face._ William swallowed and sterned himself. He cleared his throat, worried his voice would sound dry, and then explained, "There was an extra tapping sound… from the bottoms of his shoes. He has special pieces of wood on the heels and the toes…"

 _ **Now, William Murdoch was brilliant, and fast of mind at times, it was true, but Julia Ogden was no slug. And**_ …

As soon as William had mentioned the tapping sound, her brain had started down the path – _from shoes, to shoeprints in the coal dust around the burned body._ And she remembered _William making the shoeprint casts_. And she remembered that the _soles of the shoeprints in the coal dust were smooth – the soles of the killer's shoes were completely normal!_

Her voice was slow, almost magnetic, and she nodded her head at him, interrupting him, "Of course," she almost whispered it. "Of course, the shoeprints in the coal dust… Brilliant William! They were not a match," she said, and she thought to herself that _even in William's mistaken and dogged determination to see the old drunkard, who was so much like his hurtful and noxious father, get his just dues, he had still been absolutely unable to get past the plain facts of the case. This man, this remarkable and wonderful man, was wholly devoted to the truth, and William Henry Murdoch was a good enough man to see that truth even if it did not go his way. He always had been. She was certain it was one of the reasons she loved him as much as she did._

Julia exhaled, drawing his eyes, for there was a release in the way she did it.

He caught her eye, held it. Unspoken between them, he asked.

"I'm relieved is all," she started to explain, "I, uh… I completed the analysis of the blood you had me take from Mr. Beau Jangles last night at the scene…"

William nodded.

"There was laudanum in it, William," she answered.

"Laudanum?" he questioned, his eyebrow up.

"Yes," she replied, "He certainly would not have taken laudanum knowingly… and certainly not with such a large amount of alcohol. Honestly, he could have died from the dosages as they were."

There was a surge of queasiness gurgling in his gut, for even though William had already determined that Mr. Beau Jangles was not the killer, he found all of this unnerving. He reached up and rubbed at his pounding forehead once more. His mind had raced, multiple directions, all merging back into one – " _Mr. Beau Jangles had been framed._ " He blew out some of the excess pressure _… felt her eyes on him…_

She would try to help. "Perhaps a vigorous workout would help clear your mind?" she suggested.

"Yes, I think it would," he clamped his lips together. He thought it in his head as he looked into her yes, " _We'll talk later,"_ and the thought made his head hurt again. "Thank you, Julia," he said as he stood and took both of their cups to the sink.

) (

It had been difficult for Julia to decide whether or not to work on her IUD research study or not. _After all, for the most part, her decision to do so,_ _ **at all**_ _, had been the cause of their troubles in the first place_. She stood in the children's playroom listening to the sounds of William working out, rhythmical and loud exhales, an occasional grunt, always they sounded as if _he was trying so hard, to lift a huge weight, and to do so without complaint._ After a sigh, she accepted her original decision. _Her research was potentially momentous in helping women gain control over their own lives. She would not hide from it now, especially now that it had cost them all these problems._ Her footsteps were solid as she walked past his workroom door to the door of her lab.

It was not long until she heard signs that William had finished and was putting his weights away. She made sure the subjects' data was in the correct order and closed up the folder.

As soon as Julia stepped into the threshold of William's workroom door, their eyes met across the room. She couldn't help but see in those lovely brown eyes his discomfort with their impending talk.

William reached up and wiped some sweat from his brow. "I need a shower," he said, sheepishly, for it was obvious that he was trying to delay further.

" _Slow and dead slow,"_ she sighed. _Distract him from his uneasiness_ , she coached herself. "Yes, you do," she agreed about the shower, and then Julia pushed herself off of her leaning against the doorframe and stepped in. Her eyes shifted to consider his neatly piled-up weights. She forced herself _NOT to look at his hunky bicep_ as he lifted one of them to put it away. She aimed for a tone of professionalism as she said, "You are the mechanical expert, but… as a doctor, I wonder what you think of an idea I had?" She knew the curiosity of it would pull at him, her smile already growing on her face as she felt him turn to her.

"Of course, doctor," he urged.

She stepped closer to the weights. "Well," she felt him move beside her and study the array before them along with her, "If you used a pulley of some sort, you could lift a heavier load, and possibly focus it more directly on one specific muscle at a time…"

William imagined it in his mind. He could use _a metal pole – from floor to ceiling to ensure it would stay secure. The pulley could be on a mechanism that allowed it to slide up and down along the pole, so the force could be moved to different heights. That would affect angles, putting the load on different muscles at different heights…_

Julia continued. "And having the pulley would make it necessary to engage your muscles not only as they contract, but also as they extend, in order to keep control of the weight as you it down. You could change your positions. I expect you would be able to build all the different muscle groups to maintain a balance – What do you think?" she pushed for his opinion.

"It would be an all-around exercise-machine of sorts," he smiled liking the idea.

"Exactly," she glowed.

They stood together for a moment, feeling _normal… connected_. It took a minute for the happy-dust of their enjoyment of sharing ideas together to settle and for the reality of their current struggles to move in from the edges, stealing the air.

William exhaled a tense sigh.

"William," her voice touched to him, signaling they would begin, but offering warmth and kindness with its tone.

He clamped his lips together and then lifted a corner of his mouth. The expression pulled at her heartstrings and, at the same time, seemed to tickle her funny-bone, just a bit.

She went on, "When things are looking dark and turbulent, it helps to start with the guarantees."

William Murdoch was brave at heart, even if he didn't know it. A glance, a nervous shift. "What 'guarantees?'"

" _Good,_ " she thought to herself. _He was going to try_. Finding it safer not to look him in the eye, she brought her gaze back to his collection of weights. "It is guaranteed, you can rest assured, that I am profoundly grateful, every day, every single day, to be married to you, William," she said. She took a deep breath, caught his beautiful eyes for a brief second. "I very much want to be in this marriage…" she vowed, "And, William…" she leaned to him and whispered the amazing, sweet truth, "There are still butterflies! Butterflies fluttering about inside of me, sometimes, sometimes when I am going to see you, or you walk in, and I feel you there, tingling me, quivering me. I'm still madly in love with you, William Murdoch," she brushed a curl from her face. It was her turn to release some pressure, to let the heat flow out through her pursed lips. "That's what I mean. Those are guarantees," she finished.

 _Oh, this woman was remarkable… and wise. And he did feel better – he did_. His voice scratched as he gave his reply, for she had touched him, stirred him. "I see," it started simply. William swallowed, solidifying his voice and then said, "It is the same for me… being grateful for our life together. And… And, I… I seem to fall more and more in love with you every day. And…" and there was a change in him, like the dropping down one takes before leaping, and he said, "It's terrifying… having so much to lose." And then he cleared his throat…

And Julia knew _he would risk it now. He would say it now_ , that he would _disclose his scariest feelings to her_. And her brain reminded her that she, too, had felt the fear of being so in love, aligning her with him.

She felt him look to her, out of her periphery. Down to her bones, she was drawn to him, and frightened of him. She felt stuck. Even though she told herself to breath, she could not. And her ears, her ears began to hum.

William yielded to the gravity of it, trusting in the truth when all else was out of one's grasp. He said, "I have lost you before, because of your keeping secrets from me. And this latest secret is…" He shook his head and his throat clamped up.

"Secrets?" she heard her own defensiveness in her tone. Her heart stabbed at her, warned from deep inside. _It had taken ages to get him to talk about what he was feeling, to put what he was thinking into words. She needed to listen to him, not to push him away, not to run._ She swallowed, stepped closer, made her breathing deep and slow. _Be opened – be opened…_ "Can you explain for me?" she asked him.

William turned to face her, and he looked her in the eye. "The first time I lost you was because you disclosed your secret about your having had an abortion," he said.

Julia felt the ground tremble underneath her. _It had been a secret. It had led to their parting._

William exhaled, hot, his breath. "But even then, you kept more from me," _he would say the part now they both knew had cost them so much…_

Julia felt herself swallow as she forced herself to hold to his eyes, to face up to the truth.

"You… You decided that I would not want you…" William swallowed down the building heat and saltiness, "…if you were sterile. So you left me, Julia. You kept your secret and you took a job, in Buffalo… I have always been unsure, worried somehow, that there might be more… Like another shoe waiting to drop." He looked away. "This secret could cost so much, Julia," he said, then blew out some of the pressure.

"Yes, I thought you wouldn't want me… that you wouldn't want to spend your life with me," she got to the heart of it, then explained, "I knew how much you wanted a family, William. And… the abortion… And your devotion to your faith. Yes. I thought you would think badly of me…" _Odd, how those particular words erupted the hurt inside of her._ Julia's voice began to squeak,"That I would lose you. And I… I just had to assert control myself…"

"By leaving!?" he repeated the original hurt.

"You have to admit, it was you who decided to leave when I told you of my abortion," she pushed back.

He nodded. Words in his head started, " _Yes but…"_

Julia felt a rage bubbling up inside of her. It was unidentified, but it was undeniable. Words came, rushed and hot. "I kept secrets because you are judgmental, William. You _DID_ think badly of me. I was right."

"I didn't," his head shook side-to-side denying it.

 _Wham, it flew out of her!_

"You thought I killed Darcy, William!" her voice squeaked as she yelled it.

 _So old and deep, this wound - warm, and slippery and sweet in its ache, mixed with the gashing sting, as it sliced through her every fiber, potent and alive with having touched the light of day._ _Such far-reaching wounds can only form,_ she knew, _if immediately buried. This one had been… buried, buried under the emergency and trauma of the time. "The trial! Sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead… The noose, waiting at the top of the stairs!"_ the memories slammed. But her heart fought against it, for after all _William had saved her, he had chosen to ensure her life in trade for a slim chance at having his own. Surely he loved her with a force that could move mountains. But... but, he HAD also thought she had been capable of shooting Darcy, shooting him cold with a bullet through the head, merely so that she could be with him. William HAD believed her to be so weak and so impulsive as to give in to her need to break out of their helplessness, to take control, just as she had done years before, by going to Buffalo._

Having been hit hard by the accusation, William melted with his grief and his remorse and his regret for having ever thought it, his knees feeling that they would buckle with the weight of bearing the responsibility. Immediately, he gave, "It was a mistake," the words forever removing the chance that she had gotten it wrong. "Gillies. Gillies, he…" the words halted, drowned by his utter disgust with himself. And a vile shame gurgled to the surface, draining the color from his face. _How had he ever let himself be so badly duped by James Gillies? "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid,"_ his brain screamed it at him, _to ever have doubted Julia's moral integrity_. The shame just swallowed him up as he stood there, the urgency, sickening and panicked, so that all he wanted, all he could think of in the world, was to run and crawl under a rock and die.

Julia steamed, "You believed I had no concern for the law then! Of course, you think it now! The truth is I've never really stood up to your high standards, William. Never!" she turned on her heel and stormed out, arms pumping, left – then – right, propelling her out of sight. Leaving him alone… alone and lost and ashamed.

)

Showered, having avoided seeing Julia when retrieving his bedding and his pajamas for another night on the couch, William tossed the sheet off of himself only moments after lying down. _He couldn't take it!_ He was up. His jaw clamped, so many emotions torrenting through him – _terror, rage, shame, utter panic_ … all leaving him distraught and rashly pacing, pacing back-and-forth, back-and-forth…

 _ **Some mistakes, you don't even know you are making – like the one William had made recently in his presuming Mr. Beau Jangles was guilty. Julia had been right, he had made that mistake because he was unknowingly influenced by his prejudice against drunks, all due to his toxic history with his father. Other mistakes you make despite suspecting, even knowing at the time, that it is a mistake to make them. This, he figured, was like the one Julia had made in not telling him that she was sterile, in deciding to 'assert control,' and to run away to Buffalo. He would make one of his own mistakes of this type soon enough, stirred to desperation by helplessness.**_

 _ **Often, you find yourself poised at the edge of a precipice – to jump or not to jump, that is the question. The battle is often between your heart and your head, between emotions and reasoning. This, by design, is not a fair fight. For once you have gotten this far, emotions tend to have already flooded, to have already overwhelmed, and to have dizzied the brain, fuzzying its ability to think clearly. It will most likely be the heart that will win, for after all, it was emotion that brought you to the brink in the first place. And, when the heart throws you into a precarious whirlwind of unbearable powerlessness… Well, then it comes down to the question of the head's ability to fight the heart's instinct, the heart's impulse, to charge ahead, to feel control, control of something, control of anything, in order to be free of that helplessness. This is the emotion William battled now. And William's head knew it could not yield, could not let the heart prevail in its need to be free of this nauseating helplessness, not without an extra dose of courage to force the head aside. And thus, William, for the second time in as many nights, stood wrestling with himself in front of Julia's whiskey decanter, breathless and alone in the dark.**_

)

She heard his footsteps, up the steps, out in the hallway, then paused on the other side of their closed bedroom door. Her eyes had stopped their moving across the words of the page of her novel – stuck there, frozen there. Julia realized she was holding her breath. Then, just as she told herself to breathe, there sounded William's knock at the door, gasping that breath.

"Julia…"

His voice through the door almost startled her. Its tone was unexpected, flaring a thought – " _Is he angry?_ " Book down, she jumped out of her side of the bed. "Just a minute," she called through the door. Her hand grasped the doorknob as she remembered – _she should have put on her robe._

Their eyes met. William's were hard.

"What is it, William?" the inhalation before her words tinged in the back of her nasal passages with _the scent of whiskey._ She wondered to herself _if William had been drinking_ , and suddenly she remembered the time she had found William out on their front porch, in the middle of the night, drinking her whiskey in order to cope with his fears that she would die trying to give birth to their child. And she realized that _she was right, that she did smell alcohol on his breath, and that he HAD been drinking,_ and with that she felt the rupture of knowing in her heart that William was suffering now, suffering terribly with her recent and troublesome decisions, as much as he had been suffering back then with her decision to try and have the child. And, somehow, it hit home inside of her, that he was facing losing her because of those decisions, those same decisions that had brought on this tragic fighting between them, and she was deeply, deeply sure, in that heat-filled second, that it had been a mistake to ever hide all that she had been doing with teaching her students about contraception, and abortions, and in conducting this IUD study from him. _Keeping it a secret had been a big, big, mistake._ There was a tug at her heart for him. And she stood before him, for the moment, simply a bit stunned.

He walked past her, forcing her to turn.

 _ **His back to her, just for a second. He was on the precipice. He could, still, not jump.**_

Abruptly William turned back to her. "Julia, you must stop," he pronounced, "As your husband, I demand it."

Julia was half-way through her rebuttal before she was even aware that she was speaking, "Oh…" her chin had jutted up and her eyes had turned to fire, "I think it's best we both just forget that you ever made this mistake. It is a mistake, William," she said leaning closer to him in her challenge, "to think you own me, no matter what some unjust law says is the truth. You know it, and I know that you know it. All you are accomplishing with this is convincing me that I was wrong to ever think you were any different from any other man!" she almost spit the words at him. Her hands rose up to her hips, pointy elbows poking out to make her look bigger. She stepped closer, lowered and strengthened her voice, "And what if I refuse to follow your orders, husband?" she upped the ante, "What then? Will you beat me?"

 _ **That hit him hard.**_

 _And in the shadows of the room the hazy ghosts of William's father arguing with William's mother haunted them, such dire consequences hinted at in the wind._

William's eyes filled with tears, and his head spun, and words were gone. " _She had it wrong! She had it wrong!" He never meant to force her, only to persuade her, to make her see that if she loved him as he believed she did, she would stop for him._

The tiniest stutters, his head shaking, "No. No. That's not what I meant…" _And he wasn't sure whether or not the words had made it out, out and across the screaming, flurrying, void._

Julia stepped back, decision made. "The truth is William, you are powerless to stop me," she stated, her eyes held tightly to his, and she saw him shift.

He nodded, and swallowed, and said, "Julia, I misspoke. I… I only meant that I demand it as your husband, as the man who loves you, and the man you love, as the man who would be devastated, and decimated, and alone, if you ever got caught."

And now it was Julia who felt the sway, for _he was right_. Her brain screeched it at her, " _He was right!"_ She had to look away, for her insides were ripping apart. _How could she do this to him? It was true. She loved him. She did. And more than anything, she didn't want to hurt him_. And she considered it then – really considered it – _stopping_. _And then she knew that she could not._

Her stance softened, and he felt the relief of it. But then Julia's head began to shake side-to-side, and _he knew she was refusing to stop,_ and absolute panic swept through him.

"William, you can't ask this of me," her tone was reasoned. "It is working, the IUD. It's working," she argued, "And if I stop, then there will be women, like me, and like Lilly Dunn, who will die, who will ruin their lives. This can help them. These things I'm doing can help them William." And she saw him considering it, his doing so racing her forward with sensing she could succeed in persuading him if she could just drive home her argument. "I know you, William," she said, "You would not be that selfish… to ask me to do such a thing," she concluded.

 _It happened so quickly…_

"Selfish?!" William blared, a blistering rage exploding inside of him. His stifling it, his holding it back, steamed tears into his eyes – stinging, stinging, tears. A voice from somewhere inside of him told him, whispering and yelling, " _Out. You have to get out."_

And with that thought…

William was gone.


	7. 7: To Fight for What's Right

Chapter 7: To Live is to Fight for What's Right

" _ **These sweaty clothes stink**_ **," William thought to himself as he opened the door to the little room with the clothes-washing cupboard and the clothes-drying cupboard. He felt his biceps bulging against the fabric of his robe with pride. "** _ **It was a good workout,"**_ **he told himself as he placed the dirty workout clothes into the machine. "** _ **Soap in. Machine on,"**_ **William reached up to rub his hand over his rippled stomach muscles underneath the robe, and then he appreciated his tightly contoured chest bulges, directly touching his fingers to his naked skin.** _ **The shower had felt great**_ **, and now he found himself becoming aroused. A memory flashed –** _ **Julia admiring the dead boxer's muscly arms**_ **. There had been a defiance in his own internal voice inside his head back at the time, "** _ **I boxed**_ **!" he had wanted to defend.** _ **He had! He had boxed back when he was in Jesuit school.**_ **But he had managed to keep quiet about it, not wanting to reveal his jealousy to Julia… and feeling inadequate in his own build at the time. "** _ **You've made up for it since then,"**_ **he told himself, for it had been immediately after Julia had praised that rugged boxer's brute strength, and then she had told him in the morgue after that that '** _ **some women find a combination intriguing, a combination of a rough and forceful man with more peaceable types who live in their mind**_ **,' and it was after that that he had purchased his weights and began his regimen of building-up his muscles. For a split second, he imagined himself** _ **constructing the exercise-machine Julia had recently inspired him to make…**_

 **Her presence in the doorway caught him, feeling her there more than seeing her.** _ **It shot straight to his groin!**_ **He looked into her beautiful blue eyes, her pink and cream face, gorgeous wisps of blond curls dancing around the edges, tempting. "** _ **Naked under her robe…**_ _ **under her silky-smooth robe**_ **," he imagined the feel of her supple curves in his hands through the silk, then, spinning him, he imagined his body pressed to hers. His eyes were captured,** _ **cleavage, delicious, delicious cleavage, between those two round, scrumptious, bulges**_ **popping-up out at that place of fusion making the junction of the silky neckline. He lost the ability to breath, to think, to speak.**

" **How was your workout?' she asked. And she absolutely floored him as she reached down and tugged at the sash of her robe, untying it, setting those jiggly, round, succulently-soft bosoms free, over the curves of her, her shapely small waist…** _ **and… and… and lower.**_

" _ **Words William!"**_ **his brain screamed at him…**

 _ **Oh,**_ **she smiled as she watched him swallow…**

 **And, still…**

 **His voice cracked…**

" **It was most pleasant," he answered her, about his workout.** _ **But his groin stretched and reached and throbbed for her, so sweet with jungle-heat, that he lost his mind**_ **and he asked, "Would you like to have romance?"**

 **And Julia gave a tiny giggle, for** _ **it was unlike him to verbally ask for it, and alien to use such strange wording to do so,**_ **and then she questioned, "Pardon?" with an eyebrow up to scold him.**

 **William stepped closer to her,** _ **the fire of**_ _ **his desire overpowering every inch of him, striving with all its might to get closer to this luscious, luscious woman…**_ **He asked her, "It's** **what a husband and wife do, is it not?" and he heard the hunger in his own voice as he pressed nearer and nearer to her.**

" **But we are arguing…" she backed away, shaking her head. And her face took on that Mona-Lisa smile, for** _ **she was driving him wild and she knew it.**_ **"Uh… Uh, not now, William," she said, and her eyes toured the small room, coming to linger on the top of the clothes-washing cupboard, which currently bumped up and down vigorously, having reached the most seductively lovely stage in its cycle.**

" **I want romance," William whispered as he covered the distance to her and reached up to pinch one of her curls in his fingers…**

 _ **And she felt her insides flip with the delightful sensation of lust and wanting him, and she imagined falling into him, with those wonderful butterflies fluttering and spinning her brain and her body into mush…**_

" **Not another step!" she somehow pushed him away. And then she backed herself into the rapidly vibrating machine behind her.**

" **You don't want romance?" he felt the ache of rejection stab deeply.**

 **Julia placed each of her hands back behind her up onto the top of the vibrating, pulsating, machine and then she gently jumped, lifting her tender, plump, round buttocks up onto the machine to sit upon it…**

 **And William's hot breath surged out of him as his eyes dropped down to the sight of her deliciously supple body rippling with the thrusts and jounces of the machine underneath her…**

 **Lusty and amorous, she said to him. "Oh yes, my husband is better… But the machine, it won't try to control me, now, will it?" She rolled her head back and closed her eyes and she yielded to the juicy, heated call to move, to move, with such a tantalizing rhythm,** _ **and every thought, every sensation in all the world raced to that one swollen spot inside, that one spot that William always, always strove to touch**_ **…**

 _ **And the way she breathed, and she pumped, and her soft, warm body bounced with each wave of it all, struck him to the core with thundering lightning bolts of agonous desire…**_

" **Please, Julia," he pleaded with her, "Please get off the machine and come to me!" And such unbearable desperation collapsed him down onto his knees, and he begged her, over and over again, "Please get off! Please come to me! Please Julia… Please…"**

And then, William was simply awake. _It had been a dream. He was on the couch_. He exhaled, relieved yet still buried under the frustration and despair. He felt beaten and battered, and weary to the bone. Fighting it, his brain tried to focus, to cope, to keep moving forward. " _It's Saturday_ ," he began to ground himself in the real world around him.

He heard them, up above, at that very moment – the little pitter-patters of their children's tiny feet upstairs. _William Jr. would knock on their bedroom door… "They'll be down here soon,"_ he prepared himself.

)

The roughhousing was well afoot. The game this morning had blossomed into one that was acrobatic in nature, full of tumbles, and flips, and feathery-soft landings, down onto the spongy cushions of the couch. Child after child after child ran, squealing and giggling and laughing and screaming-out, around the established circle to their big, strong Daddy. _Their turn, their turn!_ they each hopped in place.Then each one of them stepped in between their father and the back of the sofa, and then turned away from him to face the back of the couch, and planted their hands firmly atop of the sturdy piece of furniture's padded back, and waited, _deliciously_ , anticipating the impending huge lift as their father's big hands grasped their hips and hoisted their backsides up towards the ceiling, folding their tiny bodies in half, and they started the forward roll through the air, flipping them over the back of the sofa to land sitting, perfectly straight, settled in place on the seat of said couch.

The littlest one, Chelsea, scarcely able to reach even near to the top of the back of the couch, was so excited by the fun that she could barely breathe. Her itty-bitty bottom would only just touch down on the sofa cushions when she would declare with glee, "Again Daddy!" before she would burst off the couch and dash back into the circle so as not to be passed by one of her older siblings and risk missing a turn.

" _As usual,"_ Julia told herself, with the sounds of all the fun wafting up from down in the living room, _happy for it_ , as she closed their bedroom door behind her up at the top of the stairs. She had hurried to dress while the children played with William, figuring she could get the day started, planning on cooking their breakfast while he had some time to himself, to shave and dress as well.

 _The playing seemed particularly spirited this morning_ , she noted as she grew nearer. The children sounded absolutely lovely in their laughing and shrieking and mirth, but…

 _Fear gasped her to a halt…_

 _It seemed impossible_ , the sight of her young son hurling, head-over-heels, launched through space – _so high! So high_! And right next to him, _seconds behind him_ , their even younger daughter, Katie too, exploding up into the air, flipping, catapulted like circus performers flying up on the trapeze, from one space to another in an instant. And now, William lifting their little baby girl, only three-years old… " _He's going to do it to her!"_ Julia's heart screamed.

"William!" their mother's panicked voice lightning-bolted across the room, freezing all motion in its place, save for tiny Chelsea, who seemed to dwell midair, stuck in the vacuum up there for a mere second, before she touched down. Even she managed not to call out once more, _"Again Daddy!"_ as she had done so many times prior, instead paralyzed with the dread that her father most certainly was about to get a stern talking to.

"What are you thinking!?" she fumed. "It's too high! My God, you'll break one of their necks!" her voice had raised to its more customary squeak revealing that she was beyond upset.

"They're fine," William defended, arms opening wide to display his innocence, and he toured his eyes around the scene, ensuring for himself that he was right, that it was safe.

Julia had taken the second to regain control of herself, despite the thundering of her heart against the walls of her chest, and the wave of faintness making her brain and her every limb feel as if it was made of lead. She made herself breathe as their eyes met again across the space between. She stood herself taller, brought her hands to her hips seeking some modicum of authority. "Please don't do it again," she insisted.

"But Mommy!" William Jr.'s little-boy voice cried. _His turn was next…_

Without looking at the boy, she lifted a hand in his direction, and only silence responded to it. _There would be no negotiating._ Julia's eyes held strongly to her husband's. She added for good measure, "I insist, William."

He nodded. "As you wish," he backed down. He turned to address the children. "No more flipping over the back of the couch, then," he announced, making it clear that he had deferred to their mother in this matter.

Julia stepped into the room. She reached down and picked Chelsea up from the couch to stand her on her feet on the floor. "Good," she said. "I'm glad that is settled," she concluded. A big exhale. She felt better. Changing the subject, her tone cheery, she invited, "Now then, my Little Ones, your father needs to get dressed. Would you like to help me make our breakfast?" She held a hand out to Katie.

"Are we having eggs?" the five-year old asked.

Julia turned, headed for the kitchen, and the three children followed right behind her in her wake, reminding William of little ducklings all in a row behind their mother. "Yes," she answered behind her, "I think scrambled eggs, and some French Toast would be nice. Would you like to take turns cracking opened the eggs?' she asked.

"Me first!" William Jr. rushed ahead, spurring the other two little ones to run right behind him so as to have a chance at the fun.

Back in the living room, suddenly feeling alone, William sighed. He bent down and began to gather up the bedding. Sadly, it was beginning to feel normal, their distance from each other. And then, just a little more, his heart broke with the ache.

)

The cooking almost done, Julia believed she heard the front gate, and with it she remembered that William had the newspaper delivered on the weekends. She sent the children to the front porch to get it, putting William Jr. in charge because he was the oldest. Back from completing the task, William Jr. proudly took the paper from Katie and placed next to his father's plate on the table.

Setting the food down, Julia glanced at the headline at the top of the fold. " _That was fast,_ " she thought, for the newspapers had led with the only two-day old case as their main headline. " _William would not be happy_ ," the next thought arrived. _It was only last night that William had finally acknowledged his mistake in presuming Mr. Beau Jangles' was guilty of murdering his partner,_ a fellow negro minstrel performer, Mr. Ernie Williams. The papers were heralding 'Detective Murdoch's uncharacteristically quick' resolution to finding who was responsible for the horrendous crime, and worse, the press appeared to be thrilled with the Constabulary's claiming that the blame for the killing of a negro should be placed squarely on the shoulders of another negro. They were calling for Mr. Beau Jangles getting sentenced with the noose, and they were blasting the headlines labeling such a sentence a 'justified lynching." A heavy sigh escaped her. And she heard William enter the kitchen behind her.

"Mm," he complimented, "That smells delicious."

Katie bounced, "We all cracked and wished all the eggs, Daddy!" she declared, _missing the word 'whisked,'_ and then adding, "Even Chelsea," seeking only her Daddy's love and approval to make the world seem right.

 _A good man, a wonderful father, William Murdoch would gladly give it,_ Julia smiled to herself knowingly, as she placed down the final plate, and she thought to herself inside her head, further, that _she had had to remove quite a few miniscule little pieces of tiny, tiny, annoying eggshells from the sticky, gooey mess as a result of her young children's 'help,'_ and then she smiled to herself even more _, for she recognized that she herself, too, was a good Mommy._

William Jr. wanted in on the credit, inhaling deep with thought as he _tried to remember the word his mother had told him,_ and then he lit up exclaiming, "Mommy said we beated-up the eggs… Oh! No. No, it was 'we beat-up' the eggs," he informed.

Julia gleed, hearing William stifle a chuckle. She had had an urge to correct Katie's and William Jr.'s misspoken words, to teach their children to speak well, but she had convinced herself, " _Not to 'whisk' in and correct her little ones,"_ and then Julia _laughed to herself inside her head at her own, and as usual unappreciated, pun_. But then her thoughts moved on to wondering _why it was that she had refrained from her customary teaching them, and there was sadness with the inquiry,_ for she realized that _it had been because she felt that they were all so vulnerable right now,_ and she recognized that _they were all trying too hard to act happy,_ and she wondered to herself _if Katie, if little Katie, who seemed to be so very, very, attuned to the feelings of others, particularly to the feelings of those she wanted more than anything in the world to love her, had felt badly for getting her father in trouble with her mother with their overzealous roughhousing_ , and then Julia remembered her psychiatric training, and she remembered that she had learned that _young children tend to see all family problems as being_ _ **their own fault**_ _somehow, and her heat sank with the grief of that_. She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the distasteful thoughts. She turned her attention back to her family.

And, _oh my_ , how William was praising the children's job well done, leaning down to feign his thorough inspection of the bowl of scrambled eggs, and then parading around the kitchen table going from child to child to child to give each one a kiss, and to commend their "magnificent," and "wonderful," and "marvelous" eggs.

Once their father and mother had taken their seats, the family dug in. The Murdoch's were hungry, lively eating taking priority over talking. William ate while he lifted the paper and read the top headline. He exhaled through pursed lips, already feeling the stress bearing down on him.

Julia asked him, "Bad news?" However, truthfully, she was already completely aware of what was wrong.

He frowned, his eyes never leaving the newspaper, and replied, "I got it wrong. I made a mistake, as you know, in rushing to my conclusion that Mr. Beau Jangles was the killer from the evidence I had," he sighed. William reached up and rubbed his brow, his beautiful brown eyes catching hers for a moment. "And now the press has exploded with it," he complained.

Julia placed her fork down and lifted her cup of coffee to her lips for a sip, her blue eyes giving him her complete attention.

William went on, catching quotes from the newspaper to further illustrate how much worse the situation was than merely that, reading bits and pieces aloud as he elaborated, "Their giving me 'accolades for an uncharacteristically fast resolution of a case, and celebrating 'Toronto's fate in being saved from having to endure the dangers of having a violent negro loose on our streets.'" The rubbing of his forehead deepened. He looked down at his plate, appetite suddenly gone, and put his fork down. Eyes back to the paper, he blew out more the pressure with another big exhale through pursed lips. He turned back to his wife and said, "Mr. Beau Jangles is innocent, or at least, very likely so. I have to let him go. The press will go berserk, now, with that news." He shook his head and slightly soured his expression with the distaste of even thinking about it.

Julia glanced quickly at their children, each of whom was entirely mesmerized by their parent's conversation. Now it was her turn to exhale. "William…"

Her voice had the remarkable calm confidence and wisdom in it that he had come to treasure.

"Everyone makes mistakes," she said, not surprised by his wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, and then his frown. "Yes, the press will likely berate for it…"

"Or they'll say my mistake is to let him go… from the looks of it," he suggested.

She had to agree, "Yes. Yes, perhaps," she sighed, "That may be how they see it."

His scowl pushed her to add, "How they will likely see it." She wrinkled the corner of _her_ mouth, now, admitting he was probably right.

William went back to reading the paper. Julia turned to Katie, sitting next to her and asked, "Is it good?"

"Except for the toast," her oldest daughter replied, not old enough yet to have the graciousness not to draw attention to Julia's having burned the toast – _again._

Suddenly Julia had an idea. For the briefest of seconds, she considered it inside her head… _Yes. Yes, she thought it was a good suggestion…_

"William?" she drew his eye, _and she felt the impact of seeing his hope_ , and it sunk down into her with a warm honor, for _he expected her to help_. "Perhaps you don't have to let Mr. Beau Jangles go…"

William instantly began to shake his head. "I have no just reason to keep him in jail?" he argued.

She leaned closer, then the children did too. "No, what I'm suggesting wouldn't be YOU keeping him there. It would be HIM agreeing to stay in prison as part of the plan to help you catch whoever it was that framed him," she explained. Then hurried to check, "You did say last night that you thought Beau Jangles was framed, did you not?"

Receiving his nod, she went on, "You could explain to him that it would be to the advantage of the investigation that the real killer to think they have gotten away with it."

Oh, it was all over his face – the relief, followed by his lighting up and saying to her, "You never cease to amaze me, Julia."

And her beaming a big smile and then giving him a coquettish shrug.

William began his planning. "I'll go to the stationhouse… later," he thought aloud as he looked around the table at his family, his bright and worried-looking children who were all excited about spending a Saturday of fun with their parents. "I'll talk with him about it. I need to question him in light of this new evidence anyway," he added with an air of having settled on the matter.

His hunger was back. The family followed along, all back to focusing on their eating, once their father had picked back up his fork, and turned the page of the newspaper.

Thoughts of planning for the day in her head, Julia said, _said before truly thinking_ , "I was hoping to work on my IUD study."

 _ **Boom!**_

 _It had happened_.

 _The bone of contention between them had suddenly been dropped right out in the open._

And immediately, both pairs of adult eyes darted to the safety of their plates.

The children's eyes however, honed with intensity. _"What!? What had just happened?"_

Julia almost said, heard it in her head but stopped it – _"I'm sorry."_

William braved a question that had been bothering him, his eyes stubbornly glued down onto his plate as he spoke. He asked, "They… the IUDs, they would need a doctor to implant them?"

Julia found she needed to clear her throat. "They would," she answered plainly.

A quick glance between them.

He returned to the view of his, now nearly finished, breakfast. "And to remove them… when the woman wants?" he figured out loud.

Julia became radiant with excitement, leaning closer across the space of the table towards him, eyes dancing with her glow. "Yes. That's the beauty of it, William," _she really was so excited,_ "SHE has control. SHE can decide."

William's deep and forlorn sigh told, reminded her, that _the problem they had was NOT that he did not see the brilliance, the ingenuity, of her invention, but rather that it was illegal. And therefore, the real stress between them, it turned out,_ Julia thought to herself, _was exactly what she had just said to him_. Her brain raced forward with the discovery. _She had found a way to give women control. "Of course!" Of course, it was against society's laws for her to do so. Society couldn't handle women, instead of men, having control of when they had children, and even more staggering – of women being in control of who, of which man, they each chose to father those children._ It was crystal clear to her now the reasons that what she was doing would be so frowned upon, so unacceptable… _._

 _And in her rush to delve into grasping the truths about the powers of her discovery, and with them the inherent dangers, Julia had missed the fear underneath William's questions. And now, across the table from her, she did not see…_

Images played inside William's head, clamping his jaw tight, glaring the sight of his plate down underneath him, images of _Julia sneaking women into the morgue, or some secret clinic, or perhaps the University, to implant her IUDs inside of them, and then to have to do it all again in order to remove them_ , _all only serving to increase the chances of… of what he felt at the periphery happening, of hidden, unseen, eyes upon her,_ and such thoughts thoroughly palpitated his heart inside his chest, firing up deeply embedded fears that _she would get caught. She would get caught! And now, with his courage to ask and with her answers, he understood that Julia, that it was Julia herself, who was performing these procedures. Julia was putting these illegal devices into women subjects, these illegal devices that she had dared to invent, and then even worse, that she had dared to teach other women how to use, and that on top of what he had already understood – that she would publish, publish a paper to educate the world about her invention…_ William had to stop himself, overwrought by the panic of it.

His sudden lifting of his face, his big eyes to hers, drew her out of her rushing thoughts. "I'll take the children to the Park… then…" he offered with a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

Unexpectedly, Chelsea insisted "No Daddy to park!"

All eyes turned to the three-year old at the end of the table, propped up on her booster seat.

She repeated, "No Daddy to park!" with even more insistence this time.

Julia was puzzled and checked, "You _**don't**_ want your Daddy to take you to the park?" she asked.

Frustration covered the little one's face. _She was not being heard – it was infuriating_. "No! No Daddy to Park!" she repeated louder. _There was the slightest hint in the air of a temper tantrum in the making, like storm clouds rumbling in the distance._

Julia looked to William, his confusion matching hers.

William, _despite being a mature and wise and good-hearted adult man, was having to fight off hurt feelings of rejection._ Julia's expression melted with concern for him.

"Clearly…" she said, attempting to reassure, she turned back to Chelsea, "You love playing with your father in the park… I know you do…"

William interjected, trying to make sense of his daughter's rejection of him, suggesting his only explanation for it, "I'm sorry that I have work. That can make you mad, when I'm too busy to play with you." Then he offered, "Perhaps your mother should take you all to the park today…"

Even more defiantly, Chelsea stomped, "No Mommy to park! Mommy _**AND**_ Daddy!" Then she began a tantrumy mantra, repeating it over and over, "Mommy _**AND**_ Daddy to park. Mommy _**AND**_ Daddy to park…"

Her two older siblings soon joined in on the chant, "Mommy _**AND**_ Daddy to Park. Mommy _**AND**_ Daddy to park…"

 _Both parents felt a wave of guilt overcome them. Their children were suffering because of their arguing, and because of their distance from each other – because of their precariously balanced partial parting…_

They shared a look. There was his customary wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, and then her shrug.

Julia took a deep breath, in the swirling dustup of the children's chanting. "It is settled then," she said loudly enough to get over the protests, "We will _**BOTH**_ take you to the park."

"Yippee! Yippee!" they celebrated, and shared smiles all around at their success, and with anticipation of the fun ahead.

William said, "Eat up, then. The sooner we're finished, the sooner we can go."

With that, they all focused down on the plates before them, and it became noticeably quiet, except for the clinks of forks to plates.

A few minutes later, William Jr. alerted, "Mommy, Chelsea's eating with her hands," prompting his mother to rush to rectify the situation.

First to the sink to wet a towel, and then Julia hurried to her youngest daughter and instructed, "Hands up, Little One."

The sight was adorable, little chubby three-year old arms up in the air as if she was a victim of a stick-up. For Julia, there was much to clean and clean and clean. "You are a sticky, sticky, mess, my girl," she said as she rubbed the wet towel over each and every sticky finger. "Chin up," she modeled by lifting her own chin into the air. Gratefully the child's lovely hair seemed, as of yet, to have been spared from the inevitable spread of the grease and syrup proliferation. Julia reached up to remove one of her own barrettes from her hair to use to pull back Chelsea's red curls. She teased as she cleaned, "You have invented a whole new meaning to being a ' _sweetie_ ,'" Julia chuckled at her own joke. She glanced to William. " _Nothing,_ " she complained to herself inside her head about _her lot in life, forever destined to have her humor go unrewarded._

Chelsea objected, "Not a sweetie."

Julia laughed. "You most certainly are," she argued, "You're a sticky mess."

Chelsea protested, "Not a sticky mess."

Then her Daddy got in on it, teasing her from the other side of the table, "You're my Little Sticky Face…"

So cute, this little one seemed to get that it was a game now. Her chubby little legs started kicking away underneath the table, giving her whole body the bubbliest vibrations as she leaned towards her father and decreed, "Not a Little Sticky Face!"

"Oh, you most definitely are," William pushed away from the table, and the whole table erupted with fleeing, squealing children flying about in every which direction. Oh yes, the game was, once again, afoot – the Daddy Monster growling and grabbing and scooping up and tossing about any little child he could reach.

Once the roughhousing died down, the parents planned out the day. The family would have an outing to the park, first thing. Then Julia would stay home with the children while William went to the stationhouse to question Mr. Beau Jangles. Then tomorrow morning, William would take the children to Late Mass at Church, and that would leave Julia free to work on her study.

To be fair, the whole family worked together to clean-up the kitchen after their breakfast, and during their various tasks the children bargained for certain adventures – tree climbing, going to the fountain, looking for little creatures near the pond… They were very, very excited.

) (

The Murdoch family emerged from the shade of the trees that bordered the brick pathway leading to the big, long fountain.

It was bound to happen, that the couple would be flooded with wonderful memories upon returning to the place. It may have been the only place, outside of their own backyard, where they had engaged in a barefoot kiss. Julia looked over the heads of their three children to catch his eye. "You are remembering it as well?" she asked him.

Using a big inhale to give himself time to think, _for he had been, but things were strained between them right now, and it seemed to have the effect of making the sweet little memory feel very far away,_ William decided to respond with a gesture, his customary wrinkling of the corner of his mouth, and admitting to having been remembering it further with a nod.

"What?" William Jr. asked, instinctively looking to his mother for the answer rather than to his father, "What are you remembering?"

Julia felt the eyes of all three of their children focus in on her, and, with remembering the children's display over breakfast as evidence that they were hyper-alert as to detecting any discomfort between their parents, she decided she needed to tread carefully. "This place has a good memory for me and your father," she said plainly. Her blue eyes squinted into the sun under the brim of her hat to gaze down the path to the spot. " _Up on that little wall,"_ she remembered, and she could almost feel it all over again _the sensation of her cool bare feet being warmed and dried by the cement, and the way he had taken care of her, worrying that she must be exhausted, and the way that all she wanted to do, in all the world, was to let herself fall into him…_

Katie interrupted her thoughts - guessing, "Daddy kissed you?"

"Yes, he did," Julia smiled down at her. She gestured up ahead on the path to where the two long, parallel, slightly raised, sides of the long flat pool stretched towards them from below the elaborately spraying fountain, each wall rounding a corner to join and complete the long rectangle, and said, "Right there, up on that small wall at the front edge."

Katie reached over and grasped both her father's and her mother's hand, placing herself between the couple, and then she darted forward, pulling her mother and her father behind her with all her might. "Daddy, kiss Mommy again. Kiss her again," she exclaimed.

Little Chelsea joined in, bouncing up and down with hope and anticipation as she ran along with them, pleading, "Kiss Mommy! Kiss Mommy!"

Even William Jr., usually the major parental canoodling-protester, joined in with the chanting, "Kiss Mommy! Kiss Mommy!"

William and Julia shared a look, each appearing to yield, _each experiencing wildly mixed feelings, guilt for stressing their children with their problems, regret for hurting the other, wishing, wishing things could be fine…_

The parents stepped up onto the ledge and faced each other. _They were going to do it!_

William blew out the building pressure, and then leaned over and kissed Julia on the cheek.

"Bigger!" their 3-year-old youngest one demanded with a foot stomp, "Bigger!"

The other two children began to chant it too, "Bigger! Bigger! Bigg…"

 _Oh, he considered it – imagined doing it – wanted to do it… And also, he didn't want to do it, for he knew the kiss would feel odd, odd and fake and unnatural. They had always unspokenly agreed to maintain physical distance whenever they were involved in serious arguments. It had always seemed wise to him to do so. But now, now with his children wishing so hard for them to be a loving couple, to be bonded and safe and secure and whole, like they were supposed to be, and with Julia looking so beautiful, standing here in this light summer breeze, in front of him, looking utterly breathtaking… There was an immense struggle inside of him to resist the temptation, and to do what was right, and he was desperate, desperate as he stood there, and his children urged him on, to find a way out…_

Unexpectedly out of the blue, William switched into play-mode, turning to face down the children from atop the little wall, crouching down, and growling fiercely…

And instantly everyone knew they were in the presence of the delightfully fun Daddy Monster – _the Daddy Monster – HERE, in the park!_

William roared, and beat his chest like a jungle gorilla, and then grunted his threat, "I know some little children who are going to get BIG, wet, sloppy kisses." And he leaped off the little wall and took off after the scattering children, zigging and zagging as he chose the first victim, all the children screaming and screeching with glee.

Left in the dust, spinning, dazed, was Julia. She stood there for just a second, stung by the threat of tears, for it hurt so badly that _William wouldn't kiss her_ , that _he didn't even want to kiss her_. She swallowed down the pain, and joined the game, her target William Jr. who had separated off from the two younger girls. "I too, like to give BIG, wet, sloppy, kisses!" she growled with her utmost monsteriness, and took up pursuit.

Later, out of breath from playing, the whole family settled together on a park bench in the shade. Chelsea was on her mother's lap. It was the only way for them all to fit. The two older children sat between their father and mother.

An older couple strolled by. The man tipped his hat to William and said, "Detective Murdoch, I should like to thank you for catching that dangerous negro. I'd hate to think of having such a dangerous killer out and about running free."

 _A zing of pressure charged through William, and Julia too_ , at the other end of the park bench, for they both knew that William had decided _Mr. Beau Jangles was probably not the killer, and that he was most likely framed, and that the condemned man sat there in the Stationhouse #4 cells, unjustly imprisoned, at this very moment, stuck there unknowingly waiting until William could interview him, and hopefully convince him to agree to the plan to let the real killer think they had gotten away with the crime._

Unfortunately, the hesitation was noticeable…

"Detective?" the man asked.

Julia caught it, _though she figured the older couple that had been strolling by had not_ , William's little tiny glance in her direction. She watched him… he let out a sigh, and then…

There was a tight pinch of his lips together, William had decided NOT to be honest. He tipped his hat and said, "Thank you."

And the couple nodded in return, and then moved on.

He felt Julia's concerned eyes on him – she, more than anyone else, knew he hated to be dishonest, but she also knew he was completely capable of it for the right reasons. His head hurt. He reached up and rubbed at his brow under his hat.

Julia leaned forward and tried to catch his eye. Her tone was low, suggesting her words were confidential when she said, "I wouldn't worry about it, detective…" _And then suddenly her heart gushed with pure heat, for he had given her one of those sideways, checking, glances she so treasured_. And then she, too, looked away and added, watching him out of the corner of her eye, "They'll forgive you when you catch the real killer. I'm sure they'll salute you for it, in the end."

He pinched his lips together and rubbed at his forehead more vigorously. _He doubted it_. But, being a good sport, he gave, "Perhaps you're right."

William Jr. had an idea, turning to his father. He asked, "Dad, do you have your magnifying glass?"

William reached into his inside jacket pocket, glad for the change of subject. "Of course I do," he answered, producing the handy little tool, and then passed it over to his son.

Julia smiled, an inner glow radiating her, and shook her head. "William, you are a wonder," she said, adoring him. She found herself wanting, so very much, _to cup his cheek, and to slip her hand to the back of his head, just above his neck, and to softly bury her fingers deep, deep into his hair._

"Can I… err, we go use it to look at things over in those trees?" William Jr. requested, hopping off the bench.

"Me too!" Katie insisted, jumping as quick as she could to get in on the fun.

And then, _as both parents wholly expected_ , the littlest one chimed in, "Me too! Please Mommy," already climbing out of her mother's lap. On her feet, she took Katie's hand.

"All right. All right," William nodded, unable to keep his proud smile off of his face, prompting the children to turn and dash.

"But stay close," he added, having to yell after them.

Suddenly, the couple was alone together, sitting on a park bench, on a beautiful summer morning. And the discrepancy between, what had so often been, the loving, even romantic, state between them, and what their state together was now resounded with such stark uncomfortableness that each of them actually squirmed, Julia to brush and straighten her skirts, William to check the time on his pocket-watch. Their awkwardness together would need to be overcome, for they needed to talk about their dispute, and it was blatantly obvious now, they needed to try to reconcile because their fighting was distressing their children.

Julia inhaled, signaling she would start. "The children are quite troubled… about us," she stated.

He nodded, paused, and then said, "Yes."

 _Oh… this next pause was long – long, long, long._

"William…" Julia moved closer to him on the bench, filling in some of the space that had previously held their children. "Do you remember when I told you that I had done something rather bold, that I had put my name in to the running as a candidate for Provincial Parliament?"

"Julia," _she thought he sounded disappointed_ , "That was quite different. What you were doing wasn't against the…"

 _Abruptly, parental instincts were alerted in the direction of the children…_

"Daddy! Daddy!" Katie yelled out to them in a full-speed run, "They're hurting the baby birds!"

 _Both parents were up and already into a sprint towards their daughter…._

Closer, her panic only worsening, Katie continued, "Mean boys. Big mean boys…"

 _Her father was to her now…_

"They're throwing rocks at the nest, Mommy!" tears squirted out of her eyes as the little one unraveled, "At the little baby birds, and the Mommy bird and the Daddy bird are trying to stop them, but they're too little…"

 _And somehow both William and Julia instantly knew, perhaps because he wasn't there, certainly because he was who he was, that William Jr. would be trying to save the birds…_

William asked his trembling little daughter as she grabbed his hand and began dragging him into a run towards the 'big mean boys,' "And your brother…? Where is William Jr.?"

"He's fighting them," she yelled it.

When they arrived, there weren't any 'mean boys' in sight, only William Jr. down on his knees, holding his hands over his nose. Upon seeing them he stood and began to cry. Through his small fingers, they could see the blood. His nose was bleeding, bleeding quite badly.

"You are very brave, my Little One," Julia rushed to comfort him.

"Don't coddle him," William's voice had an unexpected unwavering assertiveness to it.

And she stopped where she stood, stunned. And Julia watched as William taught, as he coached, his young son how to be a man, how to handle pain and the fear with dignity and strength.

William crouched down in front of William Jr., and ever so calmly he took out his white handkerchief, and he mopped firmly at the blood. "Be strong. Fight it. It won't last forever. It will lessen, and then stop," he reassured. _William could feel his own heart racing in his chest, and every ounce of his body wanted to soak up the pain and the panic from his little son, and he felt such an outpouring of love for this young boy – his young son, with those big, big beautiful brown eyes, so wide and desperate, gazing back at him_. "You just need to wait it out," he advised, "without panicking, without crying." Then William ducked down a bit lower, coming eye-to-eye with the child. "Count," he said, "Count. And by the time you get to ten, it will be tolerable, I promise. Count with me," he held tightly to the little one's eyes…

And Julia knew that that lovely little boy was not alone with his pain, as he stood there trembling down into his knees, and he held, at bay, the fall into panic.

"One. Two. Three…" William sounded completely in control…

And she heard her son's sweet little-boy voice start to count with his father, "Four. Five. Six. Seven…"

And she heard his tone growing stronger. And she pulled her little girls in tight to her legs and hugged them there as they waited.

And, so young, so scared, little Chelsea said into her mother's skirts, "They hitted him, Mommy. They hitted William Jr."

And Julia hugged the child tighter, realizing that the little three-year old had witnessed the older boys punching her older brother, and said, "He's alright. Your big brother's going to be alright…" And Julia thought to herself that _her little boy was more worried about disappointing his father than he could ever be about a bloody nose and about being outmatched and outnumbered by a bunch of bullies_. And in that moment, she _thanked her lucky stars for her remarkable good fortune in finding William Murdoch,_ and she loved him even more than she ever had before, so much that her heart felt as if it was ripping opened to make room, and she realized it was making room for her remarkable son as well, for her beautiful boy had done it – he had fought for what he knew was right, and he had faced down an unbeatable foe in doing it, and then he had managed to master stopping the fall into crying in the whirling aftermath, and she knew down in her bones that their son was going to be a very, very good man someday, a very good man like his father, indeed.

Her motherly instinct tugged at her, and she squatted down to talk to her little girls. "You two were probably so scared, weren't you?" she asked, to vigorous nods. "Well, I think you were both very brave, hmm?" she encouraged. "Chelsea, you didn't scream, or run away… And Katie, it was so smart to run to get us to help., hmm?" She put her hands behind their two heads, rubbed her thumbs over their cheeks and their small ears. They shared in a deep breath, and then Julia stood, and they all turned to William Jr., each girl holding to one of their mother's hands.

William Jr. had recovered sufficiently for his father to suggest that his doctor-mother examine the degree of injuries. Julia squatted down to take a closer look. She was careful not to say anything that would frighten or upset William Jr. – _he had just been through quite an ordeal and he certainly did not need more to be frightened of. Fortunately, she honestly didn't think his nose was broken – that was a relief._ She wondered for a minute at her own vanity, for the thought crossed her mind that she was _grateful he would still grow up to have a handsome face like William…_ She interrupted her own train of thought with something more constructive. Her voice sounded professional, "It has stopped bleeding…"

"Yes," William said, "I noticed that too."

"It will be swollen…" she stopped her words midsentence. She had almost said, ' _Too bad for his first day of school this week_ ,' but gratefully Julia had held her tongue. _It would only be distressing right now for William Jr. to worry about that_ ," a part of her had figured. She stood – the examination finished. "I suspect he will get two black eyes," she predicted.

And William Jr. felt surprisingly proud of that, _"like the boxers!"_ And now, feeling stronger, he began to tell his tale. Out of breath, his heart still pounding in his chest, he said, "Three bigger boys, they were throwing rocks up at the birds' nest…" and he pointed to show up in a tree where the boys were targeting…

And everyone let out a sigh of relief, for the bird's nest seemed to have survived the assault.

 _Swoop!_ One of the parent-birds almost knocked William's hat off of his head. Instincts had made him duck.

"They are fighting us!" William Jr. exclaimed. "They think we're like those bad boys," his eyes traveled to the other adult bird heading their way. "They were doing this the whole time!" he fretted.

Quickly, William and Julia pulled their children closer to the cover of the trees on the opposite side of the tiny clearing in the path from the tree with the birds' nest in it.

Julia tried to lighten the mood with a joke. Pushing playfully at her husband's shoulder, she teased, "Now that we're being attacked by _BIRDS_ , it's a good thing your father knows how to _DUCK,_ or he would have lost his precious hat." And she fell into giggling at her own joke, explaining through the giggles, "Get it… ' _duck_ ,' like a ' _bird_?'" And then she laughed even harder with seeing William's scowl. "It's funny!" she insisted, failing, as usual, to have her humor appreciated.

William turned his attention back to his son. "What did you do… when you saw the bigger boys throwing the rocks at the nest?" he asked.

"I stopped them… for a second," the whole family listened intently again as William Jr. went on. "They said they weren't breaking any laws, and for me to bugger off," he looked back up to the bird's nest, "Then they went right back to throwing the rocks…" But then his little voice began to squeak as he declared, "I had to stop them Daddy!" and he felt the wrinkling and pulling in his forehead, and he knew he would start to cry again.

William picked his son up into his arms. And he reached in and pushed some of the curls out of his face. He modeled taking a deep breath, and then he pointed back up to the nest. "Look," he encouraged, "I can see the little heads peeking out, hmm? The baby birds… You saved them, Master Murdoch."

"We're so proud of you, Little One," Julia added.

Katie stepped free of her mother's hand looked up into her brother's face, high up there in their father's arms, and she squeezed hold of William Jr.'s shoe. "You were so brave…" she said, "to fight such big boys."

"Very brave, indeed," William said, putting the boy down on his own two feet.

All hint of tears gone now, William Jr. began to tell the story all over again, so excited to have done something brave and good.

And Julia glanced to her husband and said to the group, "Perhaps William Jr. could tell us all about it over some ice cream…"

And all three children hopped and jumped, surrounding William, and their little fingers reached up and tugged at their father's jacket, all the while pleading, "Please! Please Daddy! Please…"

"Very good," he gave, to cheers.

They started back down the path.

"Though, I wonder… Have we lost my magnifying glass?" William remembered as they grew nearer to the sound of the fountain.

It was the youngest, little Chelsea, who knew exactly where her father's magnifying glass was. It turned out that Katie had had it in her hand and was looking at the inside of a beautiful flower when they all heard the bigger boys being mean to the birds. Katie must have dropped it there when they hurried to see.

Katie led them to the beautiful flowers, and the magnifying glass was found unharmed.

With his magnifying glass safely tucked back into William's pocket, _along with whatever myriad of things he somehow fit in there,_ off they went.

)

The ice-cream shop was busy, but they had managed to get a table before the standing room only crowd arrived. People passed by carrying treats, fathers, mothers, some older children. Many of them recognized Detective Murdoch and his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden. They were, after all, deemed 'Toronto's Favorite Couple' by all the newspapers. Unfortunately, most found it necessary to compliment the detective on his success in apprehending the 'lethal negro killer,' as one headline had referred to Mr. Beau Jangles.

The closest William seemed to get to indicating the truth in the matter, which was that Mr. Beau Jangles was likely not the killer and would ultimately be free once again, was to respond with vague replies, like, "It's still early in the case," and, "My inquiries remain ongoing." It felt to be near enough to the truth to ease his discomfort on the subject.

The tale of how William Jr. had saved the birds occupied much of the conversation while cool metal spoons dug in to devour ice-cream treats, 'banana splits,' highly recommended by Miss James and Crabtree and Higgins. Well prepared with her own handkerchief in her purse, Julia dipped an end of the cloth in her glass of water and dabbed at the sticky smudges of ice cream all over Chelsea's face. It came up that the 'mean boys' had claimed that they were not breaking the law. Their father told the children that what the boys had said was true, that it was not against the law to throw rocks at bird's nests… even nests with baby birds in them. Now that just seemed unfathomable to the Murdoch children.

 _ **These were very young children, it is true. And both William and Julia were very proud of their children's sense of right and wrong, especially at such young ages, but…**_

The question stirred in Julia's mind, _were their children too young to understand justice?_ With the fire in her belly, she knew _she would need to at least try to impart such wisdom_. She cleared her throat, and everyone looked her way. "It may not be against the law, it's true," she started, "But I believe those boys KNEW that what they were doing was wrong. I think they knew… ALL people, I believe, instinctively know that it is WRONG to abuse power, to intentionally hurt those who are less powerful than yourself, like those boys were doing when they were trying to hurt those little birds." She glanced to William, happy for his nod.

"You think so too, Daddy?" William Jr. asked.

 _Truth be told_ , his answer was ' _Yes… And no,_ ' but it would be _too confusing for his son, his children to try to understand the intricacies of what can happen to damage people so that they can lose that instinct. "Best to agree,"_ he figured, and then he said, "For the most part, yes, yes I do." He then added, for he figured it was so, "I most certainly think that those boys today knew that what they were doing was wrong."

Julia inserted, "That's why they needed to say they were not breaking any laws, to make themselves feel alright about doing something that THEY knew was wrong. You see, not all laws are just…"

Katie asked, "What's a law?"

Julia looked, really looked, at her children. _Her children looked perplexed, well, William Jr. and Katie did. Chelsea looked to be a bit glazed over_ , and Julia worried that _she might be getting close to needing her nap._

A young man arrived at their table to bus it. Noticing the little boy at the table's injured nose, he commented, "It seems you have been in the wars. You've got quite a swollen nose there."

Katie proudly trumpeted her brother's bravery and heroics in saving the bird's nest, "with baby birds in it… from three really big boys." She nodded vigorously, _because it was true._

"Well…!" the young man said, "I'd bet if they could talk, the parent birds would most surely thank you."

William Jr. said, still bothered by the fact, "They said it wasn't against the law to throw rocks at bird's nests, or even at the birds either!"

Kindly, the young man replied, "Well, I think it should be."

"Me too!" little Chelsea declared, bouncing in on her booster seat, happy to be able to contribute to the conversation.

The busboy nodded and went on to the next table, and _William and Julia each tried to remember where they were in their teachings…_

William inhaled, and then he answered Katie's question from before the busboy came, "Laws are like rules, but the government of a country makes the laws, and all the people in the country have to follow them."

And then Julia added, "And not all laws are just. That means some laws are not fair, and not right."

"Oh," William Jr. answered her.

She leaned closer to the center of the table and lowered her voice, drawing them to all huddle in. "And unfortunately, people can use such unjust laws, such unfair laws, as permission to do bad things to other people, to people who are weaker than them," she explained. She then added, "But even if it something is NOT against a law, the society may allow unjust things to happen. Some people use their superior strength, like being bigger and stronger physically, or…"

"Like those big boys over William Jr." Katie figured,

"Yes, they abused their superior size and strength, first over the little birds, and then over your brother who tried to stop them. Yes, just like that," her mother seemed to beam with pride, and Katie started kicking her feet under the table happily. Julia decided to explain the even more complicated nuances of injustice. "Now there are other ways to have superiority over others besides physically. Some groups are bigger, like there are more people in Toronto who practice the Protestant religion than there are people who are Catholic…" _There was a quick glance to William, enough for her brain to fire the message that he looked concerned, but it was soon forgotten._ Boldly, she went on, but leaned even more to towards the center of the table and whispered, "That's why your father cannot ever be an Inspector – because he's… I mean, we… are Catholic. _Not sensing William's eyes burning into her, she continued on unaware that he felt she was getting close to the line,_ and she added, "Though, there is no law that says a Catholic man can't be Inspector – or a Catholic woman, for that matter…"

Despite his discomfort with talking about such controversial matters in public, William interrupted her there. He did so even despite his concerns that their children were probably too young to grasp much of the concepts they were discussing. He wanted to get off of the topic of _HIS_ religion, and further, there was a rising passion in him to impart to his children, who ironically were being raised in the upper classes of society, about the most common abuse of power, especially as they were on the more-powerful end of this scale. He cleared his throat and said, "I've found that probably the biggest abuse of power in the world is by those who are wealthy over those who are poor." He tapped the table in front of him with his index finger a few times and explained, "We have the good fortune, because your mother came from an elite family, to have much more money than most other people, to have a nice house and clothes and all the food we need, and even more, abundant luxuries. There are many, many other families that are not that lucky."

Julia touched her hand to his across the table. "Your father is very right. We are very lucky, but that is why WE have to be the ones to work for justice, BECAUSE we have that power, we must use it to make the world better and more fair. For instance, I treat patients free of charge who cannot pay, to help them get good care. Even though they don't have much money."

She considered _going a step further, thinking it was up to those in power to work the hardest to change unjust laws._ And then she thought _about herself, and running for election, and about her being arrested for teaching women about contraception,_ and she _almost remembered that that was_ _exactly_ _what she and William were currently so strongly disagreed upon_ , but she spoke too quickly for the thought to land… "And it takes really brave people, really strong people, to fight for what's right, especially when most people stand back and won't get involved, and even more so when it is the very laws that everyone must follow that are wrong."

 _Deep in his gut, William felt the worry begin to swirl…_

"You see, there is much injustice when it comes to men and women. Men are physically stronger, but it is also because women bear the children of men – men want control over that…" she had gotten on her soapbox. She noted, _off in the periphery somewhere_ , that _William had exhaled through his pursed lips like he did whenever he was stressed._ It caught her – stopped her. Julia took a deep breath, told herself to calm down.

"Julia," William's voice drew all their eyes, it had a seriousness to it, one that also drew the breath. His eyes warned. "They are quite young," he insisted.

"And I don't want them following a law just because it's a law, especially if they know it is wrong. Our children should do better than just doing whatever the law says, religiously…" she defended.

"And I don't want them breaking those laws without fully understanding the consequences," he shot back.

 _ **It had heated up so quickly, and within a tiny second, they had gotten to the core of the problem in a nutshell, and from the look of them, they would have trouble stopping this maelstrom that was charging straight through them.**_

"You did, William," for he had… _with Constance Gardiner, and by not arresting Isaac – even herself, for that matter,_ "You have broken laws."

The panicked violin string in his head deafened and spun him. "We are not going to do this here…"

"Our children cannot just accept some of these laws, William. They are unacceptable…" she went on. It seemed she did not hear him, "Consider, that in the United States it was legal, it was in accordance with the law, that men like Mr. Beau Jangles could be owned as property by another man, could be enslaved, simply because of the color of their skin… And then, similarly, but not as specifically, it is still the law here, today, in Canada, that a man owns his wife as property. These children, our children, should know that a good person would fight these laws, that they would fight for what is right, especially if they had the power of wealth to buffer them from the consequences," Julia was on a roll…

"Buffer them from the consequences!" he had the urge to raise his voice, and so doubled down on whispering. "That is exactly my point, the consequences cannot be 'buffered.' The consequences of defying such laws are grave indeed," he locked gazes with her form across the table. "Imprisonment is such a consequence, or even being killed, as has happened to so many in the past who fought against slavery…" he explained. Then he leaned even closer, "It takes someone brave indeed," he agreed with her earlier statement, "And someone who may end up lost to their family in fighting that noble fight, and you would encourage our children to be this brave – to take that risk?"

"If necessary," her voice had quieted, _for they had drawn eyes from the other tables._

William said, low, "Not here."

Her mind tossed up a retort, and the savory temptation of saying it to him tantalized her tongue as she battled against yielding to it. It hovered right there in the almost… _"And I must just acquiesce to your command… Why!? Because you are my husband! Because I am your property!"_ But too, in the other corner of her mind, a wiser voice whispered, _"He is right, you know. You must stop."_

 _ **Children are much more sensitive to their environment than many give them credit for, and somehow the Murdoch children, at least the two oldest ones, sensed that the 'discussion' about the abuse of power in general had somehow morphed into becoming about their parent's larger and more personal argument. Now, William Jr. and Katie and Chelsea had been upset about their parent's unrest with each other BEFORE seeing their parents fighting with each other here in the ice-cream shop. Now, witnessing this fighting right here and now, their stomachs sickened, and their heads hummed with an earsplitting need to stop them. And these were smart children. And they knew exactly how to do it, even it wasn't a conscious knowing –**_ _Divert attention…_

"It's my glass of water," William Jr. snatched the glass between him and Katie closer to his body.

"It's mine!" Katie raised her voice, and then upped the ante, reaching over and pulling at his wrists trying to wrestle the glass from him, "Mine!" she actually yelled it now, threatening to have a tantrum about it, if need be.

If the Murdoch table had drawn eyes before, it was center stage now. The entire ice-cream shop quieted.

William stood to reach into the knotted mess of little hands clutching, and tugging, and writhing about in knots around the one glass, fortunately now empty of any water and less than half-full of mostly ice at this point. He reached in and placed his two large hands over the top of each of all four of his two children's squabbling little hands. He held firmly, stopping the wrangling. "You will stop," he said it amazingly calmly.

Julia remembered to breathe.

"Both of you – let go," he directed, "Now."

Instantly muscles relaxed and small hands slid out from underneath their father's bigger ones.

Julia instructed, "Please sit back in your seats," and both children retreated to their corners. Compassion in her voice, her eyes trying to catch their averted faces, embarrassed now and staring at the table, "Each of you take a breath, please."

Very well-behaved, wanting nothing more in the world than to please their mother and their father, they both inhaled, exaggerated and big, and then exhaled. _Their mother was so brilliant – they felt much better with some oxygen going to their brains._

William gripped the very top of the contested glass and brought it with him as he, too, sat back down. He lifted the disputed item high into the air, intently focused on its surface.

Julia glanced around the crowd in the ice-cream shop. The few people who were still watching them rushed to look away.

Once she returned her attention to whatever it was William was doing, she recognized it right away. " _He's looking for fingermarks!_ " her brain awed. She even saw some fingermarks on the glass herself. She noted that _they were small, as would be expected for Katie's and William Jr.'s small hands…_

Julia inhaled, and spoke, "Um…"

The children looked to her.

"William…?" she asked him…

He continued examining the glass – had even pulled out his magnifying glass…

"Can you tell _**whose**_ fingermarks those are?" she marveled, for _she was certain he could_. "Can you recognize _EACH_ of our children's fingermarks?!" she began to shake her head, still finding the truth of it astounding.

"I can," he answered, not diverting his eyes from the glass. He took a deep breath, indicating he had reached a conclusion. "This is William Jr.'s glass. There are not any of Katie's fingermarks on it," he pronounced, and then placed the glass back down in front of his son. For the first time since the children's scuffle, he felt Julia's eyes on him. He turned to her and lifted his mouth into a modest smile.

 _Oh… it occurred to her with a sense of dread…_

"You can identify mine as well, I'd assume…" she led.

He nodded.

"And, of course your own?" she asked already knowing.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Her mind raced – _what had she ever touched that she would not have wanted him to know she had handled? "His journal…?"_ she wondered, it being the one and only thing her brain suggested, and her being certain she had never read it without his permission. _Thank goodness, for the life of her, nothing else came to mind…_ Her voice sounded a bit hazy as she admitted, "That is a bit scary, William," and she raised a discerning eyebrow at him.

He admitted it with a shrug, for _there was nothing he could do about it, even if he had wanted to_. Then he added, "I know Claire-Marie's and Eloise's as well… And George, and the Inspector, and many of the constables working at Stationhouse #4… Even Chief Inspector Giles'…. And, of course, multiple of the suspects in crimes I've investigated over the years… Oh, and Mr. Meyers..."

He looked to her. She shook her head 'no,' then switched to nodding it 'yes.' She smiled, pleased. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," she gave." Then she looked to the children. _Chelsea was fading_. "Shall we go?" she suggested.

)

Outside of the crowded ice-cream shop, the Murdoch's walked, walked along with their small children's hands safe and snug within their parent's hands, and they each basked in the sweet feelings of that simple joy. But inevitably, the mind habitually wanders. And Julia's ended up _back in the ice-cream shop, and she saw herself arguing with William, and she wished she hadn't._ There was a big exhale from her, readying. "I'm sorry, William," she said, "I let my passions get the best of me."

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth… then took a deep breath. _She had been rather over-zealous… But he, too, had been a bit riled up,_ he remembered… _About helping his children see the importance of their having an advantage in being wealthy and in cautioning them against the possibility of their abusing that power…_

"I made a scene…" she said, and hearing those words spoken out loud sank the reality of it into her deeper and she fought the lump in her throat and swallowed her burgeoning regret.

He stopped, stopping them all, and turned to her, "Julia, what's done is done. And I was also swept up into it as well. If anything, it is _WE_ who made a scene." He leaned closer and said quietly, "And… I believe that although we were seen being at odds with each, we were not specifically overheard as to what it was that we were at odds about. Truly… It is behind us."

 _She doubted it_. And her expression showed that doubt. And then, the quick and sarcastic warning flared somewhere deep inside of her – " _Sure, like my abortion was behind us,_ " and her expression changed to a scowl.

William chuckled, _interpreting her look as one of teasing_. Then he gave her his admitting-it corner of the mouth wrinkle and said, "Well, not behind us as much as our agreeing that we _BOTH_ allowed the… _conversation_ in there to get too heated, and that we are _BOTH_ responsible for any ramifications."

"You think there will be ramifications?" she worried, and rushed to thinking about who she had seen among the people in the ice-cream shop – " _No Constabulary members… No one from the Church… Had there been a reporter!?"_ the thought raced her heart…

Her husband stepped back and glanced down at the children, _waiting… watching… listening_. He chuckled softly and then said, "There may be headlines in those gossip columns… 'Toronto's Favorite Couple SPLITS over Banana Splits,' or some such."

Julia's laugh muffled into a more feminine giggle as her hand rushed to cover her mouth. "Oh William," she declared, "That's funny!"

His face told his pride. "A bit," he said with a winsome shrug.

They turned and continued their walk, children taking their hands once again.

William sighed, his mind telling him that _the depths of his and Julia's problems were much more far-reaching than he had thought – that they appeared to be on opposing sides of a significant issue that they each valued teaching their children about._ He reached up and rubbed his brow under his hat. _They would work it out_ , he told himself. _He had faith._

"Where's my little sticky-face?" William asked, seeking out Chelsea over on the other side of her mother. "Do you want your Daddy to carry you?" he asked her, for he had also noticed _their littlest child was growing weary._

 _Oh…!_ How his heart burst with love as the little child ran to him, her little arms up in the air, wide, and she leapt into his squatted hug, her Daddy waiting for her there. He groaned playfully as he floated her up into his arms, and he kissed at her curls that feathered and settled into his neck. His voice warm surrounding her as he said, "My sweet sticky-face."

A few steps further, Julia complained, tilting close to him, "Now, why is it…?" she _almost tucked her arm into his, but the quick reminder came, and with it – hurt, as she told herself that she should not._ She let out a sigh, and then tried to cheer herself. She reminded herself that _she had been about to badger him_. Perking up, she teased, "Why is it, William, that when _YOU_ tell a joke, we _BOTH_ think it's funny… hmm?"

So quickly he zinged her back, flooring her, "You didn't like my joke about why you need an 11-foot pole…" he said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She giggled, _remembering exactly what it was that he was referring to_ , and nodded.

Feigning insult, William told more, "And then, only an hour or so later, you laughed hysterically when the man in the vaudeville act told the very same joke," he remembered correctly.

"True," she agreed, "True."

Walking along further, William Jr. admitted apprehensively, "I wish I was still young enough to be carried like Chelsea."

Suddenly concerned, William glanced across to his wife, "Do you think he has a concussion?" he asked her.

"No," she answered, her eyes focusing down on her son. "He's hurt, most definitely. His nose…" she listed the injuries, taking stock for herself as much as for William, "Bruised - kicked in the stomach… And his back… And his ribs." She brought her eyes to connect with her husband's, "I'd say he's mostly just exhausted from enduring the courage, and the onslaught, and all the excitement." She turned her attention to address her son. "Perhaps a nap today, when your sisters take theirs?" she asked.

There was not an answer from William Jr., for _although he did feel most weak, and he did want his father to carry him, and he did suddenly feel so very, very much like a little, little child, and he found he wanted Blanco,_ his long-forgotten little stuffed rabbit, _he was still a big boy, and big boys don't take naps._

Julia stopped them and said to William, "I'll take Chelsea…" she reached for the three-year old. "Why don't you carry William Jr." she suggested.

William lifted his son into his arms and basked in the sweetness of feeling of having the exhausted child's head lay heavy onto his shoulder. "Best if we hail a cab," he offered.

)

In the sleepily rocking carriage, the family had settled snuggly onto the seat, with William Jr. on his mother's lap and Chelsea on her father's. Katie sat on the seat between them all. William spoke first, congratulating William Jr. once again on his so courageously saving the birds in the park. He reminded him about how he admired his lion-heart, rare in one so young, and he said he was very proud of him.

His mother, her voice so close to him that he could feel it vibrate from her chest into his whole body, explained that she was, "so sorry" that he was hurt. "But," she said so wisely, "heroes would not be heroes if they did not risk getting hurt."

He wondered to himself for a moment, if he would _really be a good hero after all_ , for right now he was overwhelmed by the hurt part.

His mother whispered into his ear, "You faced down an unbeatable foe, my Little One, to fight for what was right." And she gave him a gentle, gentle squeeze.

Julia looked over to catch William's eye over Katie's head. She gestured down to Chelsea. "that one's asleep," she said.

He nodded.

"You know…" her voice aimed back to William Jr., "Remember when you see Daddy without his shirt on?"

William Jr. nodded.

Her voice tucked down to his ear, "Remember how he has so many scars?"

Another nod, and he figured out what she was about to say.

"Well, each one of those scars was from when your Daddy was being brave and he got hurt, like you did today," she explained.

William added, "Your mother has done lots of brave and heroic things too…"

William Jr. perked up, remembering aloud, "She saved you – in a boat!"

"She did," William gave with a smile. He looked to Katie and added, "It is not only men who can be heroically brave."

Katie turned to her mother and asked her, "Do you have scars too, Mommy?"

"Nothing like your father," she answered. "A few little ones here and there. This one was from a scalpel," she remembered, and she showed the children an old slice that had been stitched-up on the outer edge of her thumb. But then it occurred to her, " _the Cesarean section surgery_." There had been a large inhale with the discovery, tugging all faces to her, save for the sound-asleep littlest one in the carriage. "The biggest scar I have is the one your father made, when we were both being very, very brave…"

 _Oh, they were so intrigued…!_

And Julia thought to herself that _in her whole life she had never been as scared as that moment… sitting on their dining-room table, leaning back against William, in labor, destined to bleed out, and die, and lose the most wanted baby in all the universe when she did so, and… and, to leave William grieving and alone, and truly_ , tears filled in her eyes, and her heart pounded and raced in her chest, and she breathed, and there was the most _amazing sense of gratitude inside of her_ …

"Our remarkable, impossible baby was not born yet," she began to tell the story that they had heard so many, many times, "And baby William Jr. was trying to be born, but your father had to save us first, William Jr. and me too. He had to perform surgery on me, to get William Jr. out of my uterus before we both died." Then Julia leaned back and touched her fingers to the area where she had the scar, low, just above her pelvic bone. "You were in there," she said to William Jr., still sitting on her lap, and herself still finding the whole thing amazing, truth be told.

Katie asked, "Did my first Maman have a scar too?"

 _ **It had been quite a long time since they had talked about Katie and Chelsea's adoption, or anything related to it. There was a pause as everyone reacted to the return of the topic between them all.**_

"No," Julia answered, "Most women don't need to have surgery to get the baby out like I did," she tried to sound nonchalant. "Like I do," she corrected, for _she had even needed the surgery when she miscarried, not that long before they found Chelsea and Katie to adopt._

As is not uncommon with young children, questions came to mind, and Katie asked directly, "Is that why you have us…? Chelsea and me? Is it because you can't have any more babies, because of the scar?"

 _It was close enough to the truth_ , Julia thought, nodding her head. "Yes. Yes, and we are so, so happy we have you and your sister. We love you, so, so much…" she said, leaning her body over to kiss and wrap an arm around Katie. Julia's eyes lifted to meet William's.

Moving nearer to adore Katie would risk waking Chelsea, but William too, slipped closer to her on the seat, and he leaned down to his oldest daughter, and he told her…

 _As his voice somehow resonated in this child's deepest core – as it always had, from since that very first moment that she heard it at the orphanage._

"You're our most beautiful, wonderful, remarkable girls," he said, "And we thank God every day for helping us find you." He kissed her on the top of her head, and then he readjusted Chelsea to make sure she slept comfortably, sitting himself straight up again.

It was quiet… Breaths. Thoughts starting to come and go…

But then, Katie started crying – crying hard, and harder and harder, within mere seconds her cries escalating into sobs.

"Sweetie," her mother called her, and she dove to her, clamored for her warmth and softness.

Such a good older brother, William Jr. hurried to make room for her on their mother's lap, sliding off and stepping down onto the floor to let his distraught little sister muffle her cries in her Mommy.

"Shh, Little One," Julia's tender voice breezed at the child's ear. "You are remembering your mother… and your father, before me and your Daddy, I think. And how much you miss them… And how much they loved you…"

Katie did not nod, she did not say 'yes,' she only cried harder, that in itself telling that her Mommy had guessed it right.

William Jr. felt his heart might burst. "Are you alright Katie?" he worried so, reaching out and touching her shoulder with his hand.

William slid closer, Chelsea sound asleep on his lap, despite all that was going on. He leaned over towards Katie, determined to guarantee to that sweet little girl that they were all with her. "She will be fine, Little Man," he reassured his worried young son. "She just remembered losing her mother and father… back before being with us, and then having to go to the orphanage…" he explained, and the words, the thoughts, _imagining the events the little child had endured, resounded so deeply inside of him, so much like what he had experienced himself as a boy, in many ways, though he had been older… And it all felt so close, so powerful, as he remembered those bittersweet moments with this little tiny girl that day at the Catholic orphanage in Nova Scotia when they first met…_ And William found that he needed to clear his throat, for there was a lump there. And then he went on, "Remember you were playing with Katie outside the orphanage that day, that day that we went there to get Chelsea. And then you asked me if we could adopt Katie too…" he reminded.

Julia modeled taking a deep breath, working to calm the child's sobbing in her arms. "So much to lose for such a little, little girl, hmm sweetie," she kissed at her young, distressed daughter.

Then her Daddy's voice cloaked her, and soothed down deep, deep into her somehow, and he said, speaking to his little daughter in French, "Ta maman t'aimait tellement. I know your Maman loved you so much, both you and Chelsea, and your father, il t'aimait tellement, too. They are caring for you with all their might from up in Heaven, Katie. They are loving you every moment. And us too… We are loving you too."

"Shh, Little One," Julia coaxed her, "Shh… Shh," and she rocked her so gently, and she stroked her hair, and she kissed at her little ear, and she whispered she loved her, and she kissed her again, "Shh… Shh…"

)(

Down in her lab, working on her controversial study while the children napped, Julia considered both of her options, quit or continue. With the paperwork prepared for tomorrow's exciting new stage of the study laid out on the desk before her, she had to admit to herself that it was truly a huge internal struggle. Her study was going better than she could ever have hoped for. The copper intrauterine devices, even when being used by prostitutes as the only means of birth control, had been 100% effective in halting unwanted pregnancies. And now that William was taking the children to Church tomorrow, and she had the earlier part of the day to devote to her study, she had made appointments to remove two IUDs from women who had decided they DID, now, want to try to get pregnant. One of them was even a prostitute who had given up that life and was now married, and the other was a younger woman who had previously been sexually active but had now recently become engaged. Julia's every cell tingled with expectation that _**it would work**_ – that _these two women would be pregnant within a month or two_ from now, and then, then, _all she would need to do would be wait it out to see if the pregnancies were successful._

Interrupting her train of thought, a memory played of the big fight she had had with William upstairs in their bedroom.

" _Was that just last night…?"_ the thought questioned from off to the side, with the event seeming _more like eons ago._

The memory continued, _Uncharacteristically, William had given in to the urge to drink some of her whiskey_ , and she re-saw, and she re-heard, and she re-felt, William saying to her, utterly filled with desperation, _"As the man who loves you, who you love, and who will be alone without you…"_ And so quickly, a lump formed in her throat, needing to be swallowed down. And it occurred to her, not for the first time since this whole thing began, that _William had lost so many women in his life – his mother when he was only eight… Liza… His sister…_ The throbbing ache in her heart had such a pull, as _**she avoided finishing the thought**_ …

(The thought that _he was indeed facing losing her right now,_ _ **TOO**_ _, because of what she was doing, did register somewhere inside of her, and it shook her deep inside)._

However, stopping her from having time to _consciously_ grasp where that train of thought was leading, another string of thoughts appeared, holding fast to her focus. It started with her remembering trying to talk to him in the park earlier, when they sat together on the bench and William Jr. had not yet taken action to rescue the birds. " _Perhaps you should bring the same thing up again,_ " the idea came, " _when William gets home later…"_ She remembered she had _wanted to remind him how much she loved having him excited for her, cheering her on…_

Her strong, rebellious internal voice interrupted, " _You withdrew from the election for him, for his career, so he wouldn't get called up on the carpet and get given a stern talking-to,"_ she told herself.

" _Perhaps you should withdraw from these current endeavors as well?"_ a softer part of her made the suggestion.

The other side pushed, _"Wouldn't you end up resenting William for that?"_

Then the counter, " _Did you resent William for your withdrawing from the election?"_

An answer was immediate. _She had not._

The debate raged on as another part of her explained, " _That was different. He had been so adamantly on your side when you told him of your bold plans to run for Parliament, championing you, encouraging you to stick to your unorthodox plans. But now, now he is insisting you stop…"_ The pain of this, still unexplained, hurt to the core.

There was a trickle of a justification, her more compassionate side considering William's concerns, " _But this time your actions are illegal. He worries of your arrest… or worse."_

And then she remembered being arrested with the other women working on the Parliamentary campaign… " _For assault…"_

But then, intrusively a memory flashed, of another time, from a different time, that she had been arrested _… arrested for something that truly she had done despite her awareness that it was against the law, something that, back then, had had dire consequences, something that still did, right now, have these same dire consequences._ She had been married to Darcy at the time, and she was teaching women about various methods of contraction. She remembered _waiting in the cells, planning inside her head to fight the oppressive law that prohibited the helping of women to have even a modicum of control over their lives, to take it all the way to the courtroom if need be, to fight for what was right._ She had sat, imprisoned there alone, fired up for that upcoming battle. _But_ … she also remembered, that back then, back there, behind those bars, _she had been arrested by George Crabtree, and so the cells she waited in were_ _ **William's cells…**_ And she remembered how much her heart had been racing with anticipation, for _she knew… he would come. She hadn't seen William for such a long time. And the butterflies, knowing that he would come, the delightful dizziness, the constantly making herself breathe… Whew!_ And, she remembered _opening the cell door between them_ … And she remembered, _that even back then, even when she was NOT married to William Murdoch, he had encouraged her to stop. He had said that it wasn't worth the cost and that she was being stubborn. He had felt the same way, even back then. William saw her fight as a noble fight, but one that should be fought from the right side of the law, one that was not worth her going to prison for, one that could best be fought from WITHIN society rather than fought while locked away from it._

She wondered after what felt to her now like a new discovery, _"William_ _ **still**_ _felt the same way now as he did in the past…"_ Odd, how seeing it in this light made it feel that he was more _WITH HER_ than before.

)(

The stationhouse was quiet, as would be expected for a Saturday. William had called ahead and had had George 'released' from the cells earlier this morning. George had changed out of his miscreant undercover clothes and into his constable's uniform, and he was sitting at his desk when William arrived later in the afternoon. Once the constable was told that Mr. Beau Jangles was most likely innocent of committing the murder of his partner, he expressed much relief. George gushed and gushed about what a good-hearted and sage-like man this old, drunkard, negro dancer was. "Honestly sir, I think he has inspired me."

"Inspired you to do what, George?" William asked.

"Well, sir… It's almost hard to explain, but **to live** , sir. To live every moment… Oh… And to write, to do that which you feel compelled to do from the very core of yourself. And, I think, for me, sir… that is to write, as it is to dance for Mr. Beau Jangles." George gave, in his longwinded way.

"I see," William said, _but he didn't. Or maybe it wasn't that he didn't, as much as that he wanted to get to the case instead of all this touchy-feely philosophical brouhaha_. "Constable," the familiar impatience sounded in the detective's voice, "did you garner anything pertinent to the case in your time in the cells with Mr. Beau Jangles?"

"Well, only that he was baffled by it all, sir," George had quickly focused as his superior's tone had requested. "Beau Jangles said he was not at all the angry with Mr. Williams for agreeing to do the act the way Mr. Weist had insisted. He understood that Mr. Williams was a much younger man, with much of his life ahead of him, and that he needed to keep his career moving forward. He held no grudge. And, I must say, sir, Beau Jangles authentically seemed puzzled by the reports of a man who looked to be him following after Ernie from the poolhall, making threats. Truth be told sir, he told me he had no idea who else in the minstrel show would do that…" George explained. There was the slightest pause… "Now, it seems interesting, don't you think, sir, that Mr. Beau Jangles just assumed that whoever killed Mr. Williams was probably a fellow performer from the Weist Minstrel Show. Perhaps this particular troupe doesn't get along all that well?" George suggested with a strange twist in his face.

"Yes," William gave, "We'll need to interview all of the performers. Let's plan to have them all brought in on Monday."

"I'll see to it, sir," George replied. "Do you want the owner of the minstrel group – Mr. Weist, brought in as well?"

"Yes," William answered, "And the manager."

"I'll start making the calls right away sir," George said.

"Very good," William nodded. He headed for his office, stopping at the doorway and turning back to instruct, "And please have one of the constables bring Mr. Beau Jangles up to the Interview Room for me."

Standing from his chair, George signaled he was already taking to the task. "Sir," he nodded.

It was imagining _Beau Jangles down in the cells alone as the constable came to get him_ , that picture stirring up the memory of hearing the old man's shoes tapping and sliding as he danced down there behind the bars, with no one there to see the steps and the twirls and the leaps, and that prompted William to decide to let George in on his plans. "Oh, George…" he called after the constable, turning him back, "I'm hoping Mr. Beau Jangles will agree to remain in our custody despite his no longer being a chief suspect in the murder." He sighed, and then he gave the telltale signal that he was stressed – rubbing his forehead. "It would likely be helpful if, for all appearances…"

"Oh, yes sir," George interrupted, immediately seeing the value of the idea, "You don't want the killer to know we're on to him. Very smart, sir."

)

Sitting on opposite sides of the large wooden interview table, Detective Murdoch got quickly to the point, "Mr. Beau Jangles, I have come upon some evidence that quite possibly exonerates you from committing the murder of Ernie Williams…"

Over on his side of the table, the old man perked up brightly with the news.

It was upon seeing that burst of hope that William remembered that _he needed to remain open-minded, and that, just because the evidence that he had right now_ _ **indicated**_ _that Mr. Beau Jangles was framed for the murder rather than having had committed the crime himself, it was still possible that this man, right in front of him, could still be the killer._ His face wrinkled, revealing his doubt.

Remarkably tuned to the nuances of expression, Mr. Beau Jangles slumped back down heavily in his chair. _He had to remember that he was a negro man, and it was very unlikely that a white policeman would assume the best of him. As a matter of fact, this particular detective had already imprisoned him without, what seemed to be, just cause – mostly for being drunk and in the wrong place at the wrong time, and very probably, for being negro. There was no good reason to expect that he would stop holding his white prejudices against him right now._

The detective cleared his throat and said, "Well, at least this evidence makes it much less likely that you are the killer."

"Well, sir," Mr. Beau Jangles replied, "That's somethin' and I'm grateful for it."

As he usually did, William had prepared well for this interview. Thus, _he knew he would be keeping his discovery of the shoeprints that were left in the coal dust near the body by the killer to himself, and_ , particularly relevant to clearing this man, _the fact that those shoeprints lacked the wooden 'taps' that were on the bottom of Mr. Beau Jangles' shoes._ Thus, William led with the other piece of evidence that had cast major doubt on Mr. Beau Jangles' culpability – the laudanum Julia had found in his blood sample from that night. He started, "Our pathologist, Dr. Ogden…"

A flicker of the memory of _Mr. Beau Jangles dancing for Julia_ played across William's mind – quickly followed by _her reminding him that Beau Jangles had danced for BOTH of them…_

The detective reached up and rubbed his brow as he continued, "The doctor took a sample of your blood that night, before we arrested you and brought you down to the cells." William frowned slightly, deciding to explain further, finding a feeling of defensiveness still lingering within him from that night. "You had been quite inebriated, and I sought proof to that point… figuring it would lend support to the evidence against you," he said plainly. "It appears that along with a very high blood-alcohol level, as was expected, there was also a considerable dose of laudanum," he revealed.

"Laudanum?" Beau Jangles questioned immediately.

"Yes," the detective returned. "I'm assuming that you did not knowingly take laudanum of your own accord, so please consider, where you could have been slipped the drug?" he pushed, and then elaborated, giving the man time to think, "It was in your blood, but the whiskey bottle we found with you in the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret was empty, so it is unclear if the laudanum you consumed came from that bottle. Think man! You could still get the noose! What did you drink… or perhaps eat, within 6-8 hours before we found you?"

Discerningly, William studied the man's reaction. He was certain that _Mr. Beau Jangles arrived at a conclusion,_ even though the old man shook his head 'no…'

"Nope," Beau Jangles said, "Nope… can't remember."

"Well then," the detective's voice startled slightly…

 _And Mr. Beau Jangles was a sensitive enough sort to pick up on his frustration…_

"Let's consider this particular bottle of whiskey that was found in your possession that night…" Detective Murdoch said as he opened a folder that he had placed in front of himself on the table. From the folder, he withdrew a photograph. It was a picture of an empty bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. And, intermittently marked all over the outer-surface of the bottle, there were multiple white smudges.

" _Like spots on a leopard_ ," Beau Jangles thought to himself.

Mr. Beau Jangles scratched his head, and he tried with all his might _NOT_ to appear puzzled, but he could feel the detective's eyes on him, and his face grew hot.

"Where did you get it?" the detective pushed for him to speak, "It is a high-end brand – notably pricey. Is it a brand you commonly drink?"

"No, but… uh. I'm sorry detective. I just don't remember much from that night," Beau said, and then watched the detective's face become stony. He rushed to add, "Maybe someone gave me it… uh, after I was too drunk to remember… I s'pose that could be it…?" the negro man's voice raised in pitch questioning himself.

William hid his frown, suspecting _Mr. Beau Jangles was not being truthful_. However, he saw _no point in pushing the man further – he seemed to have decided not to disclose whatever it was that he knew about the bottle, or the laudanum he had been administered that night, either._

Replacing the photograph back in the folder, the detective stood from his seat and began to walk around as he spoke. He changed the subject. "Multiple witnesses reported seeing a man matching your description following after Mr. Williams with a baseball bat, less than an hour before he was killed," he reminded. "These same reports said that this man was ranting about Mr. Williams' being a traitor for agreeing to perform in the minstrel jubilee while wearing blackface makeup. You claim that this was not you…"

Beau Jangles nodded. "And I stand by it," he said, his voice starting out strong, and then dying down as he thought better of being assertive about it. His eyes darted down to the table deferentially.

The slightest hint of having a card-up-his-sleeve with his sideways glance, the detective questioned, "But it was YOU who had argued with Mr. Williams for exactly that same thing…? You have admitted that you even quit dancing in Mr. Weist's Minstrel Jubilee for that precise reason, saying you saw no reason to darken your, already dark-skinned, face with makeup."

There was a pause, William assessing Mr. Beau Jangles' reaction. The negro man said nothing in reply, but he exhaled, giving away that he was feeling the pressure. " _Very good_ ," William thought to himself, " _He'll be motivated to talk now."_

Himself exhaling, resounding as almost a sympathetic sigh, the detective said, "I'll admit that I'm inclined to believe you. But who else could it be? Who else had had any arguments with Mr. Williams? Who might have wanted him dead? You knew the man; you were his partner…"

 _It dangled there between the two men – the question of trust._

Beau Jangles made a choice. He would _risk revealing some of what he knew_. "Mr. Weist had argued with Ernie… 'bout the blackface. But they worked it out. Ernie… he gave Mr. Weist what he wanted – a good performer playin' a negro wearing blackface, just like Mr. Weist wanted, so the boss'd have had no reason to kill 'im. I mean 'specially cause, without me, cause I refused to wear it… err, the burnt-cork, well… Without me, Mr. Weist needed Ernie even more. We's were the main ones drawin' in the crowds – to see us dance, ya see."

Frustrated with the dead-end, William nearly huffed, then went back to the man's unserviceable memory. "What is the last thing you DO remember from Thursday night?" he asked. Then the detective rubbed at his brow and returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table.

"Well…" Beau searched backwards in his mind, "I was in my room, late afternoon… Gettin' ready to go out to make some tips, earn myself a few drinks, you know the ole' soft shoe."

"Mm," William urged him to continue forward.

Beau Jangles' opened his mouth, ready to speak, _words there_ , but then, it just stayed opened, and the silence hung there for a moment, nothing coming out of Beau's mouth, before he closed it. His eyes darted away, and he shifted in his chair.

" _He remembered something!"_ William thought at first. " _But then he decided against…"_

"Detective," Jangles' expression suggested an idea had come to him, "Have you considered that the killer might be a woman?"

Poker-faced, William revealed nothing. But his mind ran down multiple pathways… _Wouldn't match the shoeprints in the coal-dust… Probably not strong enough to move the body from where it was hidden behind the garbage pails to the Tipsy Ferret coal chute window… Not strong enough to move an unconscious Mr. Beau Jangles to the crime scene either, for that matter_. Perhaps some doubt did appear on William's face, for Mr. Beau Jangles began to argue his point more emphatically.

"Ernie had a reputation, ya see sir, with the ladies… and not all of 'em was his… err, Ernie Williams' _'TYPE,_ ' if ya get my drift," Beau Jangles explained, alluding to the implied racial difference. "Though, it seemed he'd picked one lady… Got serious, I think. Could be Ernie was in love. Maybe he could'a been lucky, met his match…" Beau took a breath, lifted his ' _eyes of age_ ' to meet William's, and added, "Like you and Dr. Ogden. Don't know…" his eyes dropped away again, "Don't know if Ernie'd been that lucky. But, either way, there was women comin' round… Sometimes at the rooms… Sometimes at the show hall. And they was angry that he'd rejected em, ya know. Could'a been a woman scorned…?" he suggested.

William thought about it and then came across no reason to keep his skepticism to himself. "There is evidence that suggests that the killer was a man, I'm afraid," he gave.

Suddenly, it began to feel nauseatingly stuffy to Mr. Beau Jangles. _Claustrophobic, outright claustrophobic…_ Beau Jangles asked, his voice sounding tattered, "Detective Murdoch… You say I'm likely not the killer. I was wonderin' sir, will ya be lettin' me go…" he glanced up sheepishly. "Uh, sir… now that you believe me… Now that you knows I did not kill Ernie?" he waivered in hiding his desperation.

William's heart jumped. To give himself time to think, he sighed. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his brow. _He did not want to release this man, not only because the press would attack him for letting the 'negro killer' go… but, more importantly, because retaining this man in the cells would keep the pressure off of the real killer. He was certain of that_. But truthfully, _William was feeling quite torn_. _And unfortunately, he did not have time right now to figure out why._

Detective Murdoch cleared his throat and replied, "It is still possible that you killed Mr. Williams, and that there are other explanations for the laudanum in your blood than that you were framed for the murder… But… you are no longer a prime suspect in the murder, it is true." Another sigh, this one notably large. The detective rubbed his forehead a bit harder and lifted his eyes, his fingers still massaging at his stress. "I would ask, however," he braved bringing up what was troubling him, "that you consider remaining in our cells under the ruse that you are still the main suspect. I believe it will aid in my investigation," he hurried to explain, and then added, "And make it more likely that we discover the identity of the real killer."

"I understand, detective. You think the real killer is more likely to relax and make some mistake or other to help you catch… um, him… or her…" Beau Jangles replied.

 _That first pause, there_ , _told that Mr. Beau Jangles had_ _hesitated as he reminded himself not to use a name that came to mind_ , and it lent more discomfort to William's _suspicions that Beau Jangles knew who the killer was_. And further, _his inserting_ _"or her," after saying_ , " _him," hinted that_ _Mr. Beau Jangles_ _ **did**_ _suspect a woman, as he had suggested earlier…_

Beau had gone on, "I hope you will understand, sir… With respect, a man who's lived a life such as mine, who's been enslaved, who's been nearly lynched for just speakin' to a white lady, and been imprisoned cause of bein' in a place near a robbery and havin' dark skin… A man such as me, he has no choice but to take freedom when he can." _Oh, the emotions pumping in his veins were on fire_. And it reminded him of a poem that had touched the same nerve in him, and the words came out unexpectedly, "Have you read the poems of Mr. Dunbar, detective… sir?"

William ran the name through his fast memory. He wrinkled his face, thinking he probably had, " _Sounded familiar… Would probably be a negro poet…_ " William thought.

"Mr. Dunbar wrote one poem, 'bout a bird in a cage…" Beau Jangles shook his head, still awing at the power of the words to resonate down into the marrow of his bones. "I was compelled, ya see, to dance to it," Mr. Beau Jangles delved deeper towards his soul. He saw that the detective was lured, and so he went on. "Now, I only ever performed it for Negros…" he exhaled, shook his head some more. "Makes 'em cry, sir. Makes 'em cry every time. Makes me cry too," he added, and then he chuckled, and then he told, "Only that, and my dog."

And William remembered _finding the photograph in Mr. Beau Jangles' pocket that night_. And he remembered _the empathic ache he felt when he grasped how much this old, hard-lived man must have loved that dog._ And he almost remembered too, _his own loss as a boy_ , but he shut down the lightning spark inside his brain that flashed towards that direction. Doing so made his face harden.

Their eyes met.

In the look there was knowing, a shared sympathy, each one for the other.

Detective Murdoch took a deep breath, and he stood from his chair, and he said, "You are free to go, Mr. Beau Jangles. I cannot, in good conscience, hold you here when the evidence does not point your way…"

Beau was already up on his feet. "Thank you, detective!" he glowed, "Thank you sir. Thank you." He imagined himself _shaking the detective's hand, but then thought better of it…_

It was the way the policeman stood, so solid, in front of the door that seared worry through the old Negro man's body. _Had he changed his mind…?_

William noticed the wince. He rushed to reassure. "I will have a constable gather your belongings… _and then William imagined, once more, the old man's photograph with his dog._

The detective left the Interrogation Room, and Mr. Beau Jangles coached himself not to lose hope – _"Stay standin' Beau,_ " he told himself, " _Stay standin.'_ "

)

Outside of the Interrogation Room, Murdoch went to the bullpen to see if George was still there.

"Very good, Constable," the detective declared finding George working on fingermark matching at his desk.

"I still haven't found a match sir," George wondered at the compliment, "Err, to the fingermarks on the whiskey bottle."

"Yes. I figured," William gave, and then explained, "Mr. Beau Jangles has decided NOT to remain in our custody…"

George stood, desiring to take action. "Did you explain… about tricking the real killer into think…" he interrupted.

"I did, constable," William replied. He rubbed at his brow and then said solemnly, "The man has his reasons."

 _Now, George Crabtree had gotten to know Mr. Beau Jangles from their time together in the cells, and he knew the man to be wise, but he also knew about his harsh history, and, truth be told, George was not surprised by Mr. beau Jangles' wish to be free._

Detective Murdoch had gone on, "I sense Mr. Jangles knows more than he is saying. And it troubles me that he will not disclose whatever it is he knows, as it is in his best interests to do so. There must be something he's trying to hide."

George asked, "You don't still think he's the killer, do you?"

The detective's quick shaking of his head answered the question.

"Of course, sir," George felt a wave of embarrassment, "You wouldn't let him go if you did." Then George wondered, "Are you wanting me to stay undercover, to see where he goes?"

"Actually," Murdoch perked up, "I think he may agree to having you join him."

)

The three men sat around the large table in the Interview Room – planning together. With his uniform on, Constable Crabtree's true identity had been revealed to Mr. Beau Jangles.

Surprised, Beau had admitted, "Ya had me fooled, Jack. I's thought you was the very nature of a writer."

George beamed and said, "Oh… I used the name of one of my favorite characters – Jumpin' Jack Flash, sir. I'm afraid Jack is not my real name." The constable reached for Mr. Beau Jangles' hand to shake it. "Constable George Crabtree at your service. Pleased to meet you," he greeted.

Beau gave a nod, then the slightest hint of a wink, leaving it opened as to whether _he had always known the man was undercover… or perhaps he was trying to put George at ease over the deception…_

"Oh… err," George remembered to say, "It is true, though. I am a writer. I have even published a few books…"

Beau Jangles smiled, so authentically it lit the room up. He almost whispered, "Like I dance… And the detective here solves puzzles."

And George nodded.

And William thought to himself that _these two seemed to be on the same, somewhat kooky, wavelength._ And yet, _another part of himself grasped the deeper value of their shared truth._

There was a knock at the Interrogation Room door. Through the mesh, the figure of a woman could be seen.

"Miss James?" Detective Murdoch declared. He glanced to George. "On a Saturday?" he wondered, eyebrow up.

"Err… uh, well, uh…" George struggled to think of how to explain. He bumbled his way to the door and opened it saying, "I'll explain… sirs."

Miss James stood on her side of the door, most certain that she did not want to come in. In her hand there was what appeared to be a bottle of whiskey.

William recognized it as being Julia's brand! And his mind began to race the way it often did. Astoundingly, he said…

Just as George turned back to the two men and held up the bottle, with Miss James closing the door and taking her leave…

Detective Murdoch's tone a blend of admiration and scorn as he told, "Dr. Ogden's caring for a patient, Constable Crabtree…? Our Mr. Beau Jangles here?"

George almost looked relieved. "Uh – err, yes, sir. You have deduced it perfectly," he answered.

Beau Jangles recognized the brand as well – it was the same one 'Jack' had been somehow sneaking in and sharing with him for the past two days in the cells. "Constable," Beau wondered, his eyes glancing in the direction of the door, "Ya done told me that it were a constable gettin' ya the booze. Now… that din'ta look like any constable I's ever seen before."

George suddenly imagined _being made out of rubber and his arms stretched apart, long and thin_ as he tried to decide which man to explain to first. _First_ , he decided, _he would relieve himself of the bottle_ , placing it down in the center of the table. All eyes stared at it there. George took a deep breath and turned to face Mr. Beau Jangles. "That young woman assists Dr. Ogden in the morgue. Her name is Miss James. She… err, Dr. Ogden…" George continued, now turning to the detective, and _suddenly feeling the room grow terribly warm_ as he rushed to find a way to _minimize the doctor's culpability in providing alcohol to a drunk – a drunk who her husband had decreed as the murderer…_

George blew out a load of the pressure and said, "Dr. Ogden instructed Miss James to deliver a bottle of whiskey each afternoon, um… so as to help Mr. Beau Jangles with any symptoms of withdrawal…" Suddenly an even bigger rush surged him to speak faster and defend, "She said that a man as badly addicted to alcohol as… um, Mr. Beau Jangles, would…uh, would face even death, and at the very least he would have painful cramps and incredible sickness, and get intolerable shakes… err, if he had to go without… um, sir." He swallowed, finding _he actually felt better with the load off his chest_. He had not noticed his own discomfort in hiding what they had been doing from his superior and mentor until he had been freed of the burden.

Mr. Beau Jangles sensed the tension between the constable and the detective, and he ascertained it was over an odd out-of-alignment connection involving the detective and his wife. He cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of the other two men. His ayes attached to those of the detective…

 _And William saw that there was a sincerity and honesty there that tugged at him…_

And Beau Jangles said, "Your wife's kindness, and 'er big knowledge of medicine, and 'er uh… carin' for me, it's been greatly 'preciated, detective, I hope ya know… how…err, well, 'specially with me bein' a colored man."

The somewhat stiff detective smiled, ever so slightly, _and Beau saw, as he had before when they were down in the cells last night, a glow in the man's heart for the woman_ , and then he took a chance in telling the detective how truly remarkable he thought his wife was. He swallowed, for _it was always risky to speak to a white man about the man's wife._ He glanced to the detective's notably big, brown eyes, and _found the closeness too difficult_ , and so he dropped his eyes away _,_ and then he said, "Your wife, um, your Dr. Ogden…" he cleared his throat and continued, "She be's a very impressive woman. My heart tells me she don't take to the injustices in our world lightly. It be a rare woman to even be doctorin' at all, and then she bein' in charge of the whole big morgue there, and then to be a woman and to brave takin' on a Negro woman to be in 'er employ… and to train 'er up to be a doctor too…" he chuckled at the unbelievability of it. And then he said, "Your wife's drive to fight for what be right, it… well, it just gives me hope, is all," and then he glanced to catch the detective's eyes once more, and _he did not regret saying it, he did not regret it at all._

William agreed, "Julia… my wife, has always been one to stand up and fight for what is right, to lend strength to those who are weakest and most oppressed amongst us."

"Ya be right proud of 'er in this?" Beau asked already knowing.

"I admire the quality, yes," William gave with a pinch of his lips and a nod.

George inserted, gushing as he did so, "I've always thought of the love affair between the detective and the doctor as a love for the ages. It is hard to imagine two people being more perfect for each other…" And then he remembered _finding the detective sleeping on the couch that night of the murder_ , and he wondered, and he hoped and he wished, that the two of them had worked out whatever it was that was wrong between them since then, and he worried that they had not, and he studied the detective carefully, and he thought that _he saw conflict there, between being madly in love and being in the midst of a row, and his heart sunk a bit for this man, this man he cared so much about_ , and the conversation had moved on, and George tried to return to it…

Instinctively perceiving that the detective was much more than merely uncomfortable about discussing the amorous love between himself and his wife, Mr. Beau Jangles had all but ignored the constable's remark. He returned his gaze to the detective and asked him, "And you, do you also fight for what is right, Detective Murdoch?"

 _Now, Mr. Beau Jangles knew himself to be a reliably good judge of character, and so he was well aware of this trait in the detective. He had asked this question to return the starchy man to more steady ground after the wallop his constable had just thrown at him. He smiled internally as his plan worked._

William exhaled, his gratitude exposed, at least to Mr. Beau Jangles – _George seemed impervious_ … "I endeavor to do so," he answered. "My struggle is often more in determining WHAT it is that is right," he said, and then a corner of his mouth wrinkled, and he said, "I made a mistake, jumping to conclusions about your guilt in committing this crime, for instance. That quickness is… well, **uncharacteristic** of me…"

Beau inserted teasingly, "So those them there big newspaper headlines told."

The detective frowned, and, inside, _Beau Jangles laughed_ … And a part of him _noticed that he had become quite enamored with this straight-laced policeman who had, at first, unjustly jailed him and then, in being true to himself, had come around._

William went on, "Once I am certain of the truth, however," he gave a quick sideways glance, "I am, I've been told," and then he gave a shrug and the slightest blush, _admitting to it being true_ , "that I am like a dog with a bone."

George leaned over towards Beau and said, as an aside, "The Inspector says he's stubborn…"

William defended, "I like to think ' **determined** …'"

And a deep, inner part of William's brain had trajected off as _he experienced an odd déjà vu, having heard Julia's voice saying those exact same words, along in time with his, inside of his head_. _Not enough time to examine it further,_ he was drawn to Mr. Beau Jangles.

Beau shook his head, for the detective's disclosure had twinkled the man's eyes in such a way that it had captured Beau's spirit. " _This…!"_ he thought, " _This quest for the truth,_ _ **this**_ _is this man's dancing!"_ The discovery prompted him to declare, "And that, detective, is somethin' mighty admir'ble in you, if I be allowed to say so, sir… You have a dogged resolve to find the right path, and then travel it true, come what may. And that be the reason, ain't it, that you be lettin' me go free, spite wantin' me to stay and pretend to be Ernie's killer?"

"It is," William said plainly. Then he explained further, "It is the right thing to do, to let you control your own fate. Perhaps…" The detective shifted and rubbed at his brow. " _Just out with it, William_ " he coached himself forward. "Mr. Beau Jangles, I uh… I was hoping you would at least allow Constable Crabtree to go with you, staying undercover… to serve as a safeguard. Doing so could offer you protection. People will be angry – some may be prone to violence," he made his argument, then wrinkled a corner of his mouth.

"I reckon I knows of such violence more 'an you do, sir," Beau Jangles said. He glanced over at the detective's sidekick, then returned his gaze to the detective. "The young writer's welcome to tag along," Beau agreed, happy for the friendly man's company. "Ya'd be like my wingman, while I be dancing', hmm Jack?" Beau suggested to George, "Watch out no one swipes me tips." A twinkle of his own sparkled in the old Negro's eyes-of-age as he urged, "Or… could be ya'd make a good partner… Ya dance Jack?" he asked.

"George…!? Dancing…!?" Murdoch spurted out, eyebrows held high at the notion.

"I s'pose not," Beau Jangles replied. Then, putting the shoe on the other foot, Beau risked boldness, and his tone teased, "And you, Detective Murdoch… Do ya dance much, yerself, sir?" The curl at the edges of the old man's mouth reminded of a Cheshire-Cat readying to play with a mouse.

 _The detective's answer would end up surprising him at first, until Beau Jangles remembered the man's wife…_

"I have taken lessons," Detective Murdoch replied. "My waltz, my wife says, floats her world," he elaborated, and lilted his voice, and his eyes, and his hand, as if taken by a sweet breeze.

And there it was again, the wrinkle at the corner of the mouth, the humble shrug, rose-colors flooding his face… and best of all – that twinkle. And deep down into the marrow of his bones, Beau Jangles sensed the strength and the magic and the mystery of the love affair between the detective and the pretty lady doctor that the young constable had alluded to earlier.

"I dare say, yer wife brings out the best in ya, detective," Beau Jangles gleamed.

"That she does," William acknowledged, "That she does."

The three men firmed up their plans. Constable Crabtree would pretend to be a newfound friend Beau Jangles had met while in jail, Jack Flash. He would pose as a writer, researching a novel, or some poems he intended to write, based on Mr. Beau Jangles' hard-knock life.

Before George took his leave to change into 'Jack's' more humble clothes, he told the other two men, "I have already gotten a good start on a poem…" Ham that he was, George paused for dramatic effect and cleared his throat before reciting, "I knew a man, Beau Jangles, and he'd dance for you – in wood-tapped shoes. Silver haired, a ragged shirt and baggy pants. The old soft shoe. He jumped so high. Jumped so high. Then he lightly touched down. Mr. Beau Jangles. Mr. Beau Jangles. Dance."

"Very good, George," Detective Murdoch hurried to praise, certain the poem was longer, and finding himself battling impatience.

Only a few minutes later, snuck around to exit out of the backdoor of the stationhouse, William bid the two other men goodbye. A few steps on his way, Beau Jangles turned back and warned, "People won't be happy with ya, detective, for lettin' a darky go. Ya know, I'd been suprised they's even cared 'bout a negro killin' another negro in the first place, but I knows them white people get crazy mad whene'er a negro gets himself outa a lychin' …" he shook his head, already turning to go and repeated, "Crazy mad."

"You let me worry about that," William attempted to reassure, and he tipped his hat.

Standing there, William paused and watched them go. With a deep breath, _he wished them well_ , then he stepped back inside and closed the door _– time to go home_.

)

On the bike ride home, William worked to imagine what he might say to the press. One idea, " _The Constabulary cannot hold a man without sufficient evidence… And Mr. Beau Jangles was such a man..."_ Then another, simpler, but possibly more explosive, "No comment at this time…" The anxiety of it caused some rather fast pedaling. _Oh, but the exercise felt good_ , the breeze across his face lightened him, and his mind calmed.

Then, from seemingly out of nowhere, he remembered the déjà vu that had happened to him during the interview. And he wondered after the parallels between what he had heard inside of his head – Julia's voice defending, " _I like to think determined,"_ and his own retort when unduly being accused of being slow and stubborn when all he was really doing was steadfastly seeking the truth. And then William recognized where and when he had heard Julia uttering those words. It was from back when she was down in their cells, arrested for teaching women about contraception while Darcy was out of town. _Amazing_ , that he remembered it so clearly, _and it landed with a mysterious sting_ , as he replayed himself telling her that she was ' _being stubborn_ ,' and then she had stepped back into the cell and closed the cell-door between them, correcting him with the nuance, " _I like to think 'determined_.'" And then, _wham_ , he remembered a different time, _his heart gasping and imploding with the reborn heat of it, for his heart knew the connections between the memories even though William's brain did not_ … and William felt, William remembered, _her soft white glove to his cheek_ , and her saying, _so close to him that he could feel her breath on him,_ that she was not disappointed that he would not take her up on her immodest proposal that they live together out of wedlock and revel in the outrageousness. And as he pedaled that bike home to her, he remembered that she had said to him, " _You have principles. And if you went against them, you wouldn't be the man I want to marry…"_ And then she had told the deepest truth of all, that _, "If anything, this only makes me love you more."_

 _ **And almost… almost… he grasped it then, but the clarity of what he had always known, being ethereal, misted and then fell back into the shadows, and William Murdoch's thoughts moved on.**_

 _ **Subtle, the mistake, to think that his heart had urged that he push her now to remember that she loved him for the very principles that drove him to insist she stop. Unaware, that there was another side to the same coin. Not ready yet… Not ready…yet.**_

) (

William had gotten home late. Julia warmed over supper for him. The children were soon in bed. Now he studied his blackboard down in his workroom, working on the case. He hoped George's accompanying Mr. Beau Jangles about would provide some clue, some insight, into what it was that Beau Jangles knew but wasn't telling him. He shook his head to himself – _he was fairly certain the killer couldn't be a woman..._

Julia's voice sounded at the door.

"At least take off your tie," she said and stepped in. Her eyes held to his, and then she walked close. "You have had a very long day, detective," she nearly whispered. There was a hint of seduction in the air around her. Her fingers reached for the knot in his tie, tucked in and began to loosen it, and the sensations, so delicious, teased at his neck. Her eyes down on her work, _her breath on him, her soft curls dangling, luring…_

There was an inhale, then William steadily grasped her wrist. "Julia please," he stopped her advances, and then he turned and walked over to the worktable, loosening his tie himself. He placed it down on the table and returned to the blackboard.

"I'm sorry," she offered standing beside him, both feigning studying the case despite the conversation being about what had just happened between them. Julia added, "I should have known not to."

 _ **They both felt the hurt of the reality of her statement, for his tie, her curls, had so often been the touch at the boundaries that sparked much of their flirtations.**_

William began telling her about the case. Mr. Beau Jangles was out of jail. George was undercover with him, to serve as protection, and hopefully to help garner more information. William reached up to rub his forehead. "Beau Jangles seemed to know more than he would reveal to me," he said. "I think he knows who laced his whiskey bottle with laudanum," William reasoned aloud, then sighed, "With that, I suspect he knows who our killer is."

Next to him, Julia's mind had stayed with their troubles.

"It's so hard, this balancing act we are playing with each other," she spoke of what hung unsaid between them. _Out of the corner of her eye she noted that he stiffened, that he steeled his jaw, and that his eyes focused downwards like they did whenever he was being reprimanded. It saddened her_. Still, she would continue. "Always working out how close is acceptable," she swallowed at the pause and said it, "while we are in the midst of such a strong disagreement about something that we both feel is terribly important." Julia attempted a smile.

He reached up and rubbed his brow. "I'm sorry, Julia. I truly am. But…"

"I imagined talking with you today," she risked bringing it up.

He turned and went to stand at the worktable, tinkering with something or another.

" _He's avoiding me_ ," Julia's inner voice advised. " _Keep going_ ," she pushed herself.

"I wanted to finish what I started… today, in the park…" she sounded so serious and gentle as she walked to stand at his side. "Um… After the fountain, and the children, uh… them wanting us to kiss. When we were alone together on the park bench…"

He nodded.

 _It seemed this 'talk' was going to happen now, whether he wanted it or not._ William sighed. He remembered – _she had brought up her running for a Parliamentary seat…_

 _He was so tired..._

"Julia," he interrupted her, "I don't see any point in discussing this further. Nothing has changed." William's eyes seemed to pierce through her. He took a breath and continued, "Nothing has swayed either of us to the other's side… I still want you to stop doing everything you are doing that is illegal. You still don't want to stop."

Tears spilled into her eyes.

William's brain raced to try to think of what to say… _Maybe…_

She was gone.

He regretted it instantly, for _he had not been entirely truthful – there was an elusive budging within himself_.

He frowned, and suddenly disgusted with himself, he threw the graphizer-spring with the pencil adhered to it down onto the table, separating the apparatus. The spring dinged as it bounced against the large tele-vision wheel he had placed off to the side on the worktable. Again, he rubbed at his brow. A deep breath. _He needed to cope_. However, his own self-disappointment puzzled him. _Was it not true, what he had just said? Was it not true that he wanted her to stop, so much so that he would not yield…?_

" _Perhaps it is because of Mr. Beau Jangles?"_ he thought, " _The man who dances, even when he is alone in a cell, even when he is condemned to hang for a crime he did not commit…"_ William sighed again and let his memory delve back to the interview today. _"Yes. Yes,"_ he recognized, _Mr. Beau Jangles had reminded him what it was about Julia that he so adored, so admired. It was that fire in her, her passionate rebelliousness, so spicy… and yes, her stubbornness to defend those who need most help._ And he felt the ache and the glow and the burn in his heart, and in his blood and in his every, every inch. _He loved her. My God, he loved her. He had since before he had even met her. He knew that…_

 _And he had made her cry._

He sighed, and then accepted what he had done, for he had been right – nothing had changed.

Returning to solid ground, he went back to studying his blackboard.

An urge took him, and he flipped the blackboard over to the other side, suddenly inspired to flee his sense of helplessness, brought on by yet another failure in resolving his and Julia's problems, by working on his inventions. There were two drawn out on the board – the left side with Julia's idea for an "exercise machine," and the right side with the one that was frustrating him... _But his eyes were drawn down lower…!_

To his surprise, the bottom section of the board had new writing on it – writing that was not his. He recognized what it was immediately, bringing a big smile to his face. " _It's the children's writing!"_ he declared to himself. " _Julia was teaching them to write their names,"_ he awed at her _._ " _And, curious…?!"_ he thought, as he read what appeared to be a shopping list – " _eggs, vanilla, brown sugar_ ," those words written in _the same handwriting as his son's name._ His brain competed over which question to ponder first – _How? or Why? And both of those questions were wholly overwhelmed by the beaming sense of pride that was overflowing in his chest._

)

An hour or so later, William had flipped the board back over and was pressing himself to add to his work on the case. _The two bottles of whiskey at the scene – one found with Mr. Beau Jangles, the other partially melted in the fire, likely used as an accelerant, were BOTH high-end Canadian Club…_ Next to the bottle noted as being with Mr. Beau Jangles, he wrote, " _Laudanum – woman…?"_

Julia knocked softly against his doorframe, pulling his eyes up off of his blackboard.

"I'm going to make some hot chocolate. I'm not expecting we will talk. You don't have to sit with me, it's just… Well, would you like me to make some for you too?" she asked, resigned to their remaining parted. Then she offered, "I'll bring it here to you…" the suggestion ensuring that she had no intention of holding to their tradition of talking things through at the kitchen table over their two sweet, warm cups of hot chocolate.

"Yes, that would be nice," he answered her, and she turned to go so quickly that he knew she did not see his gesture, his wrinkling the corner of his mouth to admit to the awkwardness and the pain and to his feeling sorry for his part in it.

)

Alone in the kitchen, Julia's own sighs only served to further dampen her spirits as she mixed the milk in with the chocolate at the stovetop, and then watched the spoon make the creamy swirls. She poured William's cup, took it down to him, without a word between them save for his 'thank you,' and her 'you're welcome.'

Back up in the kitchen, she poured her own cup, then sat alone at the table sipping slowly at it, grateful, at least for the pleasant taste of it, and its soothing warmth. Her eyes somehow changed focus, and she became entrapped in her reflection in the panes of the large kitchen window. She remembered… _such a similar experience_ , so real, so close to how it felt now that it felt like déjà vu, for she had been similarly caught in the memories behind her own ghostly echo in the glass those years ago as well, but back then she was captured in the morgue window behind her desk. _William was gone – lost_. Fear had consumed her, she had begun to yield to grief, accepting in her heart that _she had lost him, that she might never ever see William Murdoch again_. Images came, so beautiful that they broke her heart, _William tipping his hat to her, his smile, their kisses, so many, many, wonderful kisses…_ then tears filling up in her eyes, spilling over with _remembering his laugh_. The memory of the hurt was so deep, so heartbreaking, she felt sure she would not survive it.

Then – so fast the switch, a different memory, a different window… This one the window on her medicine cabinet in the morgue. She had married Darcy. _William had not come, had not stopped her from wedding another_. _He was gone_. And then _she felt him there, the magnetic force undeniable._ A glance into the glass. Her heart stopped and exploded in the same second, for it was true – _he was there_. Such courage it took to turn around and to lift her eyes to him. But then, again, _he was gone_ , and the burden of living life without him, and the _strain of living it with him, but not really with him, as they worked together and nothing more_ , entirely threatened to collapse her… back then. " _Then,_ " she thought, " _then and now too…"_

William's image appeared in the window panes behind her.

Julia's eyes refocused, _the window becoming a window once more._

William sat, her suffering worsening his, so much so that he desperately needed to find a way to ease the hurt he had caused. He offered, "Remember those guarantees, Julia? We still have them, hmm?" he sipped from his cup and tried to catch her eye. _He made himself breathe; it fought the stinging urge to cry._ "We still are grateful to be married to each other. We still are madly in love," he said. Tenderly, he reached out and stroked a curl at the edge of her face. "I love you so that it hurts sometimes, Julia."

Tears came, _despite her wishing they would not_ , and they squeezed at her voice. "You wouldn't even kiss me, William," she rushed to say before her breath ran out. Then that inhale, _the pain that could be heard in her as she breathed in air in order to continue, it wrenched him._ And Julia wept out the words, her face contorted with the pain, "It hurts William… And it's hurting the children."

 _And he knew it was true, and he still did not know what to do, for he remained convinced that she needed to stop her secret study, and her teaching about abortions and contraceptive methods. And he was just as convinced that she would not stop. And all he could think to say was_ , "I'm sorry," _because he was._

And she responded, "I am too," and she used the warm, smooth liquid to swallow down the ache. And then she pushed away from the table and turned from him. As she tinked the cup against the sink, she thought to herself that _she had contemplated stopping her study, stopping her teaching of such controversial matters to her students_ … But the conviction that _what she was doing was right_ strengthened inside of her once more, and she _decided to soldier-on_ , for there was a fire in her, a fire that burned in her bones, and pulsed through her veins, a call, a primal, deep call, _to fight for what was right_ , with everything she had, if the cause was mighty enough, and this cause, it most definitely was.

"Good night," she said without looking to him. And Julia left him there at their kitchen table alone and she went up to bed.

)

His feet were taking him up the stairs so quickly, that he heard her close their bedroom door. He wondered _if he had ever felt so desperate. His silence had hurt him, hurt her, so many times. He needed to tell her…_

"Julia," William's voice muffled through the door between them, "Of course I wanted to kiss you. But… until we work all this out… It only would have made things more complicated. You must know that I love kissing you." There was a pause, a need for a breath, then a soft thud as his forehead touched to the door. "I think of you, Julia, inside of my head at least once every minute of every day. I see you smile, I listen to you laugh, I admire the way you move, all in my head. A good majority of those 1440 times… at least, I see myself kissing you… or doing more… often more," he admitted awkwardly. A breath… _his own breath_ , and from the other side of the door _… only silence_ , and his heart resurged with the need to try. "Julia, I love kissing you. I wanted to kiss you in front of the fountain, today. I promised, I always want to kiss you, but I thought it best not to… not to confuse things, to make them more messy and muddled than they already are… Don't you see? Julia, please, please open the door…" He sighed, for there was nothing but his own echo to be heard, a message sent, but not responded to, a note in bottle, bobbing all alone on the waves. "At least let me know you heard me?" he pleaded. "I don't want to think… I can't bear to think, that you are alone in there believing that I don't want to kiss you. I do. I do want to kiss you. I do." The next thud told his despair as it bumped, again, lower this time, softly on the door.

)

In his little-boy bed, with his door opened just a crack, and the white sliver of light striping his bedroom floor and then slicing up his bedroom wall, William Jr. had heard Julia coming up the stairs. He had heard only his mother's footsteps, and he had heard her close the door. Now he strained to hear his father's low-toned, warm and baritone voice in the hallway. " _He sounds so sad_ ," William Jr. thought, " _like he's saying he's sorry_." And William Jr. wished with all his might that his mother would forgive him. His own voice in his head pleaded, " _Please Mommy, open the door. Open the door_ ," and he felt the swelling of tears overcome him, and he noticed _it hurt so much more than usual with his punched nose_. And then he imagined what he wished for in a flash – _hearing Mommy and Daddy's bedroom door open and knowing that they were kissing each other – big kisses, like the kind he usually wanted them to stop, but now he longed for them to crave for._ And then he imagined _hearing his father's voice,_ _ **on the other side of the closed door**_ _, mixing so sweetly with his mother's._ And he pictured _finding his father with her in the morning…_

And then William Jr. heard his father's footsteps going back down the stairs. And the lump in his throat won the battle, even though he tried so hard to swallow it down. And he started to count to ten in his head, " _One, two…"_ And there was such a cutting sting in the back of his nose and his eyes. And then he imagined _he heard his father's voice inside his head, "three, four…" and then his own voice joined in, "five, six…"_

)

Just on the other side of the door, so close that she had felt the vibrations of William's beautiful voice resound through her chest, Julia touched her hand to hold it over the spot where his head had made the final thump. She whispered into the void that enveloped her, and she succumbed to it, as she grieved to the rhythm of his solemn departing footsteps, growing more and more faint, as he went down the stairs, "The guarantees are in place William. You were right… They still are. I'm madly in love with you. I've loved you forever." And she thought to herself, " _How could I not? How could I not love you, William Murdoch?_ " _And she scolded herself for not trusting in him that_ _ **he was only doing what he thought was right**_ _when he hadn't kissed her._ _William Murdoch was always striving to do what was right, she knew that down in her soul, and she loved him so, admired him so, cherished him so, for that, always._

She sighed and went to their bed alone, clicked out her lamp, and let the darkness come.

)) ((


	8. 8: To Live is to be True to Yourself

) Chapter 8: To Live is to be True to Yourself

 _It was a glorious morning_ , Julia noted to herself as she glanced out their large kitchen window. " _Even more glorious because it was a Sunday,_ " she thought as she began to prepare breakfast for the family, before William and the children went off to Church. _She would dress after they had left_. As she worked, her thoughts of the day began to stream… _She had two 'patients' today who were having their implanted IUDs removed_ … A twinge of discomfort landed after the thought, and she wondered after it, arriving at the explanation – " _You're keeping it a secret from William,"_ the accusation came. And then quickly in its wake, the excuse followed. _It was because her study, her study and much of her other 'risky' behaviors as well, had led to such difficulties between them._

" _William has kept secrets too_ ," her instinct to defend herself charged inside her head. The train of thought continued, " _At least some secrets I know of…"_ And then an inner indignant voice inserted _, "And not only his staying with Ettie,"_ re-stirring her memoriesof when William had gone undercover in Winnipeg while she was pregnant with William Jr. _"Though,"_ she evaluated in her mind, _"That one was probably the biggest one."_

Her list of William's secrets grew, _"I'm pretty sure he didn't want me to know about whatever happened between him and Ana Fulford in Bristol while he had lost his memory… And, and, there was the time he had tried to hide the fact that he had climbed down into a missile to disarm it, even though it had already started its countdown, and it was about to blast off, aimed straight for New York City to blow it up… Or, there was that time that he fell, or rather – flew, back to Earth from up in the stratosphere, in some skimpy little bat-winged flying suit…_ "

Then another failed secret of William's interjected, " _And that he punched Darcy_ ," causing her to feel her fury at him all over again, and it danced and intermingled inside her heart with an undisclosed romantic glee that this rather buttoned-up man had lost control over his hidden, deeper, chivalrous love for her. A deep breath, then something sweeter came, " _He hid even silly little things, like that he HAD already tried coffee, before I asked him that day, out in the Rowing Club grandstands, and that he quite disliked it… Still to this day, he drinks tea…"_

Zoom…

The next round of thoughts played through. Back now to today's agenda, but with a twist, for now she thought about how much _she wished she could tell William about it, about how today, today, she would take the most exciting step of the study. She would put the ultimate test to her hypothesis – that using an IUD is a_ _ **safe**_ _way to avert pregnancy until it is wanted. Today, she would remove two IUDs, today two women who had been sexually active and who had successfully avoided unwanted pregnancies using her device would begin to try to conceive, to try to have children of their own, with the man_ _ **they**_ _, themselves, had chosen to be the father. Oh, how she wished she could tell him, that he would celebrate with her, that he would wait with her, that he would anticipate with her, and worry with her, and thrill with her._ Sadness made her push the thoughts away.

New ones came, related, but less painful, because they involved planning, taking action instead of feeling helpless to solve the huge problems she and William still faced. She coached herself, _"You'll need to publish the study anonymously…"_ And further, " _you'll need to hide what you've really been doing all this time, perhaps by claiming, in the end, that the study had failed, and that it had been on something dull and mundane anyway…"_ The idea shot into her head, " _Like fighting menstrual cramps!"_ And then she recognized the source of the idea, for she had instructed Mr. Ducharme to tell the ladies who came into his boutique subtly seeking a means of contraception that he had _**exactly**_ what they were looking for. And then Oscar would lead them to the locked-up shelf in the back of the shop where he kept her IUDs, and he would tell them, with a 'wink,' that this 'special remedy' for pain associated with their monthly 'visitor' required an appointment with a special doctor in order for it to work, and then he would schedule the woman for an implant if she wished. It had worked beautifully thus far. Oscar Ducharme was not her only source of subjects, but he was the man all of her subjects went through in order to ultimately obtain their intrauterine devices and set up their appointments with her.

 _ **Wham,**_ a wave of panic hit her, _hit her hard,_ for she had thought to herself that _she hoped that her illegal outrageousness would go undetected._ And then she wished, wished till it ached inside of her bones, that _she could share all of this with William, as her partner in life, so she would not be so alone, alone trying to be brave…_

It was at that moment that William walked into the kitchen, dressed and ready for Church. He was ahead of the children, the ruckus of whom could be heard overhead, child-sized strides, the footsteps, a cacophony of partially shod rhythms drummed across the ceiling, with sweet child voices harmonizing to make the tune. He stepped up to the stove from behind her and asked, "I noticed you were not in the bedroom dressing?"

"I thought I'd get breakfast started. I'll dress after you've gotten off," she answered, not turning from the bacon she pushed about in the pan.

She felt him step even closer.

His voice began, "Thank y…"

 _Julia turned and dove into his arms…_

 _And was deliciously swept up into the warmth and_ _ **home**_ _of him so quickly that neither of them had even a miniscule of a part of a second to think about it._

 _There was deep and profound and wonderful_ _ **caring**_ _there, as he enveloped her, cloaked her, held her. Their fitting together was so perfect, his lips so close, his breath, moist and warm, covered the edges of her tender ear, rippled down her neck…_

"We'll be alright," he whispered to her, soft and sincere and honest, "We'll be alright." And then he breathed in the scent of her. And he felt her nod in his arms, her cheek to his cheek…

 _Footsteps on the stairs…_

 _Odd, that they both shared the urge NOT to let the children see them being caring with each other, embracing each other…_

The couple slowly separated, and William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, and, so slightly, Julia smiled, and in the back of her eyes she felt the call to cry, so she turned back to the stove, and to the bacon.

 _They could each feel it though, there was a gentleness between them that balmed their wounds._

William Jr.'s disappointed voice, barely through the kitchen door, alerted without being surprised, "Burnt toast…" he groaned, "Not again."

And Julia and William both rushed to rectify the situation, William grabbing a kitchen towel and the lifting the toast basket away from the flames. Julia gingerly reaching in and freeing each piece of toast, then tossing it onto a plate next to the sink. Their efforts minimized the charcoal covering on each slice of the bread. The toast was edible.

As William placed the empty toast basket into the sink, he instructed the children behind them to, "Please line up for inspection of your Sunday best…" and then he turned to them, rubbing his hands together. "Well then, don't these Murdoch children look lovely!" he declared bringing smiles to their faces. Arriving to the littlest, his eyes dropped down to her feet. "Chelsea, sweetie… Do those shoes hurt your toes… like that?"

"They're too tight, Daddy," the little one complained

William barely managed to hold back his chuckle. "Perhaps they would feel better if you put each shoe on the other foot, hmm?"

Julia, behind him, however, utterly failed in hiding her laugh. " _Adorable_ ," she said to herself, shaking her head as she dished out the breakfast servings.

"Here," William said to his youngest daughter, "Lean your hand on my shoulder," he coached her, as he knelt down on a knee in front of her. He unbuckled each shoe. "Lift this foot," he said, then taking that shoe off, "Now this one." Once the shoes were on the proper feet, he asked, "Better?"

"Yes Daddy," the child exclaimed, a bit too loudly…

"Do you appreciate your Daddy helping you?" Julia endeavored to instill good manners in the three-year old…

"Oh yes," Chelsea replied.

"And what can you tell your Daddy so that he knows you appreciate it?" Julia pushed further.

Katie helped, whispering so loudly in her little sister's ear with her cupped hand that the message could probably have been heard in the other room, "THANK YOU."

Chelsea looked high, high up into her Daddy's face and said, "Thank you, Daddy."

She was rewarded by being swooped up into her Daddy's arms. "You are very welcome, Peaches," he replied.

"Peaches!?" William Jr. protested. "She's not peaches," he insisted.

Katie, however, rather than finding the new nickname strange, found herself jealous. "Am I peaches too, Daddy?" she asked, following him as he carried Chelsea to her booster seat at the far end of the table.

William put his youngest in her seat and then tuned to whisk up his oldest daughter into his arms next. "You, beautiful girl, are Peaches and Cream," he told her.

And little Katie loved him so much that she just had to squeeze him as hard as she could in a hug. William kissed her head, and then put her in her chair too, even though she was much too old for such things.

It was not much later, while they were all deep into their eating, that Katie found herself feeling all grown-up, planning and then asking her father, "Daddy, can Chelsea bring her 'dollhouse Berry Bear' to Church? It will help her not be fussy," the whole time her two little feet, that couldn't reach the ground, kicking about under the table. Katie had pictured the little six-inch toy bear fitting easily into her little sister's dress pocket.

Julia looked to William. _Interesting that he caught her eye so quickly. It appeared he wanted her opinion on the matter._ She lifted her coffee cup to her lips, giving her more time to think. "I think that is a very wise idea, Katie," Julia responded.

"Very good," William agreed.

The Sunday paper had been delivered, and William took to reading the headlines, grateful for the opportunity afforded to do so only because they would be attending the later mass today. There would not be enough time for his usual perusal, but he quickly got the gist. Reading the top headline, William nearly got his eggs stuck in his throat as he stifled a gasp. Remedying it, he coughed, drawing everyone's eyes.

"William…?" Julia asked.

"Miss Cherry got the lead, it seems," he said. He blew out some of the pent-up pressure through his pursed lips and shifted the paper to read the headline aloud, "Murdoch Minstrel Show Comedy – Redfaced Detective Releases Blackfaced Killer."

It chilled Julia to the bone, being confronted, so directly, with how cruel and inciting the press could be.

William's eyes darted left-to-right as he raced to read the first paragraph. Catching the charged bits and saying them aloud, he read, "Murdoch bungling another case… sets Negro killer free… despite the fact that the Negro, Mr. Beau Jangles, was seen by reliable witnesses going after the victim with a baseball bat! Repeat of Negress case – Fannie Robinson soaked in her boxer husband's blood. Again, Detective from Stationhouse #4 has gone soft on coloreds. Now we face a dangerous Negro out on our Toronto streets…"

He sighed. "There will be pressure," he said. "They'll be phoning the Inspector," he dreaded, "the Chief Inspector…" William frowned, predicting even worse, "the Mayor."

Julia considered voicing what she knew he already knew – that _he had done the right thing._ She watched William rub at his brow. Her heart ached for him.

William folded the paper and put it aside. He lifted his tea, sighed, and then sipped. His big brown eyes, over the top of the cup, met Katie's across the table from him. A smile between them, then a calming breath.

He turned to face William Jr. and said, "Well, Master Murdoch… It seems your father may get his own sort of blackeyes for standing up for what is right, just as you did yesterday."

William Jr. looked squarely back at his father, with his swollen nose, and with those two slight half-moons of black underneath the boy's eyes, and William felt it so strongly… pride. "You know, Little Man, the baby-birds chirp for their parents, who fly, and bring them worms, and sing, right now out there in the world, because of you," he nodded, "Because of you."

"Can we go back to the park and see them, Daddy?" Katie asked.

"After Church…?" William Jr. hoped.

"Perhaps," William replied.

Julia pushed her chair away from the table. "Well, it will be 'after' Church before you even get there if you don't all get going," she reminded.

Only minutes later, Julia scraped the small bits of food that her family had not had time to eat into the garbage, rinsed the plates, and put them all in William's dishwashing cupboard. It was probably her similar location that re-stirred her thoughts, again at the sink, near the stove, tinkering about with plates and food, and she traveled back in her mind to earlier, and she remembered _the sweetness of falling into that hug with William. And how he had whispered to her that they would be alright. And somehow now, even with nothing resolved any more than it had been the day before, she felt it was true._ And she sighed.

Chelsea's 'dollhouse Berry Bear' popped into her mind. " _Another secret_ ," she told herself, and then giggled.

 _ **You see, 'dollhouse Berry Bear was a little Steiff bear, and William Henry Murdoch would have been more than appalled if he knew the price she had paid for the little stuffed toy, with its moving arms and legs, and its perfect little face.**_

" _Yes, it is true,"_ Julia admitted to herself… without guilt – at least for this one _, "there are some secrets between us…"_

Boom, the thought hit…

 _And now_ , she realized, _she was about to be late herself._

) (

Miss Cherry was waiting outside the Murdoch house wondering if she might have been too late. _Perhaps she should have gone directly to Murdoch's Catholic Church,_ she thought. She speculated about if there might be any other reporters dedicated enough to be pursuing the detective on a Sunday morning. _"There aren't any others here…"_

 _ **The door…!**_

 _It was the doctor!_

" _Oh yes…" her brain rushed to explain, "She often has 'charity appointments…"_

"Dr. Ogden," Miss Cherry's voice irritated as much as it startled, "Have you any comment on your husband's setting the Negro Killer loose on the streets?" The woman readied her notepad and pencil.

 _For the briefest moment there was a possibility that Julia would hold her tongue. It was fleeting, at best._

"William Murdoch, and you know this, is a brilliant detective," Dr. Ogden's strong return championed, "And he will end up being right, as he always is. If Detective Murdoch says there is evidence that Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, then Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, I assure you." Despite herself, Julia huffed. Her eyes glared into Miss Cherry's as she castigated, "And to attack him now, because he simply is able to see this man as a human being, as being valuable simply in his being a person, who deserves to be seen for who he is rather than for the color of his skin. To batter him in your headlines, simply because he won't abuse his power as you abuse yours, is shameful. You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

 _Oh, she had gotten quite riled up_ … she realized. She held the woman's gaze.

A cat-ate-the-canary look grew over Miss Cherry's face.

And a small panic swept in to squeeze away Julia's air…

"So then," Miss Cherry tilted closer. "There _**IS**_ evidence that Mr. Beau Jangles is _**not**_ the killer?" she asked.

 _It was too late_ , Julia realized, as her mind raced to remember that _William had set Mr. Beau Jangles free just last night, and, as of yet, had not, himself, spoken to the press. William_ _ **could not have**_ _told Miss Cherry, or any other reporters, that there was evidence indicating Beau Jangles was not the killer. And, unfortunately, now, she had._ There was a sick feeling in her stomach. It showed up as an aversive look on her face. Even deeper, there was a weakening that suggested tears.

Julia Ogden suddenly made herself taller, jutted her chin in the air. "Good day, Miss Cherry," she said, and she closed the front gate and turned and headed towards the corner, anticipating meeting the cab further up the street. Stubbornly, she refused to look back, in both mind and body. _What was done was done. And what she needed to do now was get away from this nosy reporter. She would have to take more than her usual precautions to make sure no one observed her going to Isaac's office. There was much at stake, and stealth was essential. She would take three cabs,_ she decided _. And the last one would let her off more than two blocks away from Isaac's._ _She wondered,_ the idea coming too late to act on it _, if she should have dressed as a man…_

) (

As fate would have it, Father Clement's sermon that day centered on the issues of abuse of power, and oppression, and unjust imprisonment, and being true to what you know in your heart is right, and suffering for doing so, but remaining strong enough to endure that suffering, and that doing so, in the end, pleased God. William and his three children sat in a pew with Mrs. Kitchen. The children were seated, wisely, between the two adults. Chelsea sat next to her father, and he kept a hamper on how actively she played with her 'dollhouse Berry Bear. _He couldn't really help it, William felt happy, and that happiness spurred a deep, deep feeling of gratitude, and he thanked God, in that moment, for he had always wanted a big family, and he had a wonderful, wonderful one…_

"Many of the key figures and heroes in the Bible experienced hardships in the form of imprisonment — Joseph, John the Baptist, Peter, John, Paul, and even Jesus himself…" father Clements led his flock with his words. "Many of these incarcerations were unjust, an excessive action taken by one oppressive power or another, often motivated by a desire of those in power to silence the voices of those whom God had readied to guide, particularly when those voices spoke out against the regime's injustices. Many times, we are told, that God intervened, freeing the unfairly imprisoned hero through divine intervention," the Priest paused there, and the whole congregation held their breath, albeit for little Chelsea, who looked to her father's face as he quieted her playing with a gentle hand over the little toy bear, the whole while keeping his eyes turned toward the pulpit. Father Clements subtly, subtly, smiled – _the only warning of his playful nature_ , and then he said, "It seems the early church was actually led by a bunch of jailbirds, with God as the primary accomplice in their escapes!"

He waited for the gasps, and the din to die down afterwards.

"Now… why, you might ask, would God act against the law?" Father Clements threw out the deeper question. He had arrived at the heart of his sermon. He would sum it up before he elaborated and then circle back, giving, "And the only answer we can arrive at is that there must be a higher priority than the law, and that, when we look at what it is, when we look at what it was when God broke man's laws, it was for truth, and justice, and compassion, and fairness… In God's eyes, these things win out over laws…"

 _ **Oh, William's brain catapulted in multiple directions – memories, thoughts, imaginings…**_

He remembered that, _after having finally learned, most definitely the hard way, that the law could be wrong, and that holding to the truth was the ultimate responsibility_ , William remembered _Father Keegan coming back into his life, and telling him that the truth was NOT always the rock upon which we must stand, and that the greater good takes precedent._ And that linked to him _setting Constance Gardiner free from the cells, breaking the law, and putting himself and the Inspector into the position where they would be required to hold to a lie from that day forward, because of what Chief Inspector Giles had correctly named as loyalty. And yet, he was certain that he had been right to trust the feeling in his heart that he had done the right thing that day, despite all that… And so, there were levels of truth, and it seemed that in Constance Gardiner's case, the greater good was to set her free._ And that brought him to remember that _Julia was marrying Darcy that very same day, making the choice he had had to make that day so very much harder. And also, then, that he, himself, had been imprisoned at that time, too, facing the noose for a crime that he did not commit, and that, even that, did not crush him as much as losing Julia did._ And that made him think that _he might lose her now, because of all the illegal things she was doing to fight the world's injustices against women…_ And there was a spark, a flutter, a flicker of remembering _the time he had been talking with Julia through the bars of the cell, back when SHE had been arrested all those years ago, for doing then even less than she is doing now… and then he saw it so clearly_

William's brain became completely enthralled, captured, in a fantasy, so real it gasped his breath, and resoundingly it called to his soul. William envisioned _beautiful, beautiful Julia, in tattered and torn clothes, her hair fiery and wild and unkempt and wispy and free, with smudges of dirt everywhere on her supple, radiant skin, and like a beautiful, beautiful bird, Julia was locked up in a cage. She was imprisoned behind those iron bars for trying, with all her might, to right the wrongs of oppression of women. And yet,_ like Dunbar's bird in a cage, re-conjured in William's mind by Mr. Beau Jangles, _Julia, so beautiful, so strong, so pure and true to what is right for those who are oppressed, beautiful, beautiful Julia…_ _ **she sings**_ _._ _And they cannot stop her form singing, even with their cruelty, and her songs tell of the suffering, and of the injustice, and of the hope._ And William nearly declared his amazement out loud, barely holding in the exclamation, " _Oh!"_ that surged up inside of his head, but outwardly only a change in breath which no one seemed to notice, for there, right there in the Church pews, there was an accommodation inside of him, a shifting, a making room for the marvel, for the hero, that Julia truly is, and he admired her, and he was inspired by her, and he adored her, and he loved her, somehow, somehow, even more than he ever had before. It was a gift, this moment, this vision, seeing through to her deepest, truest, nature. And, my Lord, she was beautiful, and she wholly had his heart.

)

After Mass, outside of the Church, the small group stood chatting with Father Clements about William Jr.'s swollen nose and his black eyes and his having saved the birds. Father Clements praised the boy, saying to him, "Doing God's work already, Master Murdoch."

And William Jr. blushed and _fought the urge to hide behind his father's legs_. There was a little push at the back of his shoulders from his father, and he lifted his eyes to look into the warm blue eyes of the Priest, and he said, "I suppose so, Father." And then the big, important man in the long, silky robes smiled.

His father's voice eased some of the uncomfortable spotlight burning on him…

"He was very brave," William said.

"Most certainly," Mrs. Kitchen chimed in. "And it's interesting to think… Well, your sermon today, Father, about God freeing the 'jailbird' heroes of the Bible, it seems somewhat poetic, young William Jr. here having braved saving some little birds, himself, just the day before."

Father Clements nodded in agreement and turned back to William Jr., cupping the back of the boy's head with his hand. "You have chosen a right path, when you follow your heart," Father Clements elaborated. "Trust in it, always," he advised.

) (

The atmosphere in Mrs. Kitchen's house was festive. _It was because of her guests_ , she figured, _the detective and his three young children. It had been a long time… too long,_ she thought with an ache, _since her own little ones graced these halls and these floors and this kitchen table._

Mrs. Kitchen had given the detective's son a haircut, spiffing him up for his upcoming first day at school. And now they sat together, enjoying a melody of her leftovers as lunch. Passing over the serving plate of fried chicken, she said to the detective, "I would have been glad to give you a shave as well, detective."

"Oh no," he responded, his eyes dark as he chose his favorite piece, the scrumptious thigh, "I would only have to shave in the morning anyway…"

It was surprising how quickly little Katie said, "Daddy goed sleeping on the couch… And he goed shaving downstairs too… not in Mommy and Daddy's bathroom." The little one looked around the table, legs kicking away out of sight underneath the table, the motion of them wiggling her body vibrantly about as her eyes held tight with her innocent look.

William had nearly choked on his chicken…

Mrs. Kitchen, too, reacted with a swelling of emotion – _the gossip in her loving to learn such details, the kinder soul in her feeling a wave of embarrassment for such a straight-laced and upright man as she knew the detective to be…_

William's eyes bolted to those of Mrs. Kitchen, _searching to see if she had heard, knowing, of course, that she had. And pleading with her not to judge him badly…_

Mrs. Kitchen needed a breath, and she took it. Her eyes turned to the little girl. "Katie," she asked her, "Remind me how old you are, dear?"

 _Now Katherine Murdoch was a very smart and observant and sensitive little child, and her heart was pounding in her chest, and her ears were whining with that high-pitched screech of panic that made it impossible for her to think, and made her feel dizzy, and clammy, and sick, and she was so scared that she found it hard to find any words…_

The child stared back, deer-in-the trainlights…

Her father answered for her. "She is only five," he said.

"My…!" Mrs. Kitchen gushed, "That is young!" She leaned over the table, closer to the child, and lowered her voice to a loud, more intimate, whisper. "Sweet, young Katie," her gentle lecture began, "There are things we sometimes know about other people, about our family, that are ' **private,** '" Mrs. Kitchen paused for a breath and leaned even closer, noting that Katie's face had lost some of its blanch, and that the little child had breathed too. Carefully, but nonchalantly, she went on, "And part of becoming a big girl is learning what things are private and so shouldn't be told to other people…"

 _William watched on, feeling an astounding muddle of emotions, the one seemingly in the forefront being helplessness – helplessness because he couldn't back out of having Mrs. Kitchen knowing that he and Julia were fighting, but also that he couldn't save his little girl from making such a mistake as telling a very personal thing to… well, to anyone, really, and feeling helpless to save Katie from possibly feeling bad about making such a mistake, if she would even be able to understand that it was a mistake in the first place, and he felt too, so grateful to Mrs. Kitchen for helping, and for not thinking badly of him, and he wished, wished, he could help too, in teaching his daughter something this important, but he was stuck, it seemed, stuck watching…_

Mrs. Kitchen glanced around the table, seeing that the other two children were as pulled into the conversation as was young Katie. A quick catch of the detective's eyes - _she read his expression as approval_. She straightened up, and smoothed her skirt, and then correctly aligned her fork next to her plate. Another deep breath… she leaned in again and continued, "I taught my children, when they were your age, that you can tell if it is safe to tell other people something about your family if, when that thing happens, everybody in your family has their out-in-public-clothes on when it happens. Do you see?" she asked, but then she went on to explain further, without waiting for an answer. "Well, for instance if something happens at home, and at the time when it happens **anyone** in your family is wearing pajamas, well then, that is probably a private thing you shouldn't tell about," she told. She considered _asking the child if her Daddy was wearing his pajamas when he slept on the couch, and when he got up to shave in the downstairs bathroom, but the thought immediately evoked a sense of the same embarrassment for the detective,_ so she held her tongue there. She sat back and looked to the detective.

William cleared his throat, _almost recovered_. He blew out some of the pressure through his pursed lips. Then, such a sweet wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, admitting to Mrs. Kitchen that he was struggling. But then as he looked to his little daughter, _courage won out over his reservations as his heart flooded with such beautiful love for his little girl,_ and he leaned to Katie, and he whispered, "That was one of those private things… that I sleep on the couch sometimes," he gave, but then he smiled at Katie and added, "But don't worry, sweetie. Mrs. Kitchen is like family." _It wasn't completely true, but it would ensure Katie would not feel bad about telling something private when she shouldn't have, and more than anything, William wanted Katie to know how much he loved her._

"O.K. Daddy," Katie said, and began kicking her feet happily under the table again.

The adults shared a look, and William pinched his lips together. _He hoped Mrs. Kitchen understood his gratitude_.

The older woman smiled and said to him, "It is true, we give our children life, but…" her profound words gathered, "they give to us so much more, don't they?" she paused, "They give us eternity."

"Yes," William replied, looking from child to child. "They are quite a precious gift indeed," he agreed.

) (

After they left Mrs. Kitchen's house it was too late to go to the park. As it was, the girls were already late for their nap. But, later that afternoon, William took the children out to play in their backyard, and to explore in the woods behind their house, and even to swing on the swing-set he had built for them. It was as they were swinging that William became surprised to find that Chelsea had kept 'dollhouse Berry Bear' with her in her pocket all this time. This was despite the fact that they had changed out of their Sunday clothes, and Chelsea had napped, and that now she and the other children were wearing play clothes for their afternoon adventures outside.

Abruptly, Chelsea asked him to stop pushing her on the swing.

He obliged, curious.

"Dollhouse Berry Bear's turn," the little three-year old said, "All by himself," she added, gleefully pulling the little toy bear out her pocket.

William chuckled, and he had a puff of a memory of _when they were in the park the other day, and Julia was shaking her head at him for having his magnifying glass with him, in his pocket,_ and he thought to himself _how intriguing it was that in so many unanticipated respects one's children end up having one's specific traits._ "I see you are very well-prepared," he gingerly teased her, more for his own pleasure than for hers.

William watched as Chelsea lovingly bent her little toy bear's legs into a sitting position and placed him on the rather large seat of the swing. Over and over again, 'dollhouse Berry Bear' fell off of the swing as Chelsea pushed it. And over and over again, the child repeated the process.

"Try holding onto the swing and just moving it back and forth a little bit… slowly," William advised her.

As he watched Chelsea stubbornly try to accomplish getting the small toy to have a full-fledged ride on the swing, and to fail as it fell off, and it fell off, and it fell off, William found himself imagining inside of his head that his beloved _Julia Ogden was most probably exactly like this when she was a little girl_. He flashed to remembering _his own listing out of "your Dr. Ogden's" traits to Miss Pensall, having come upon the clairvoyant woman sitting on a park bench, himself walking with the aid of a cane as he had only recently recovered from the arrow so close to his heart, and when he hit upon 'stubborn' in the list of Julia's traits, and the word, the characteristic in this wondrous woman, stirred him so, and he knew then, that he absolutely adored this about Julia Ogden. Determination, just another way to say the same thing, perseverance, grit…_

"He's too little," Chelsea's older sister had stopped her own riding of the swing to help, and she tried to explain.

 _Suddenly_ , it appeared _, Chelsea had become hard of hearing._

"He's too little," Katie's sharper tone revealed that her own frustration was building vicariously, even if Chelsea's was not.

William stepped closer, drawing both girl's eyes up to his face. "Sweetie," he said to the littlest one, "Let me show you what I think will work."

The child acquiesced, but there was a huff, and William stifled a giggle, _thinking of the child's mother once more._

William re-centered the toy bear, and then grasped the wooden seat of the swing, and moved it forward smoothly, keeping his hold of it the whole time as he reversed the swing's direction and then pulled it slowly back. "You see," he guided and coached, "smooth and steady."

Now, the three-year old had found her own frustration, stressed by not being able to do it herself, by not being able to do it her way, and so she whined, "He want higher, Daddy." _Almost, almost, she stomped her foot._

Now as we all know, William Henry Murdoch was an immensely bighearted man, and, if he could, he would give each of his children the entire world, and so… he paused, and he ran the problem through his brilliant brain as one to be solved rather than one to be fought about. An idea came – _"Tie the toy bear to the seat!"_ _He could use his handkerchief, and two sticks, one across the bear's legs, the other over and perpendicular to that one, between the bear's legs, and then tie an end of the handkerchief to one end of that stick, and under the seat, and up to tie the handkerchief to the other end of that stick._ Quickly he found two appropriate sticks. In seemingly no time, 'dollhouse Berry Bear' was swinging away… up to the treetops.

Her Daddy smiled so big at her. "He's certainly swinging high now," he cheered.

Chelsea sighed.

"Wee!" William pushed the bear on the swing once more…

"No wanna play swings no more," the littlest child groaned.

William caught 'dollhouse Berry Bear's' swing and brought it to a stop. It had dawned on him. He understood…at least he had come to understand the reasons his three-year old little daughter was disappointed _now._ He undid his bear-holding contraption, saying to his pouting littlest daughter, "You really wanted him to swing like you did, hmm?"

She nodded, eyes down on the ground.

"You know," William's voice brightened, "We could make him a swing that's just his size – for the dollhouse. All the little dolls could ride on it! Would you like to help me?" he asked. The toy bear was free, and he handed it to her.

"O.K. Daddy," she agreed. The bear was tucked away in her dress pocket, and she slipped her small, little, tiny hand into his, and in doing so she thoroughly erupted his heart, ruptured it and ripped it and tore it opened, and then she began her little skip steps at his side. "Katie and William Jr. too?" she asked…

"Make the dollhouse swings with us?" he checked.

"Mm-hmm," she answered.

William leaned over to catch his son's eye as the four of them headed across the yard to the back door. "Sound like fun?" he asked him.

"Oh yes," William Jr. replied.

Katie chimed in, skipping along on the other side of her father, "Me too! Me too!" she insisted.

"Yes," William smiled at her, "Most definitely, you too."

)

Downstairs in the playroom, the model of the house William had made all those years ago, to show Julia his plans for the home he would build for her, was the center of attention. The unique and expansive dollhouse sat against one wall of the playroom and was surrounded by the three Murdoch children, and their father too, all sitting on the floor engaged in play. The model house had been fully adapted to its role as a dollhouse for years now. But, also, beyond the original toy-sized house itself, there were multiple Murdochian additions. Some of the enhancements were designed specifically to accommodate William Jr.'s more boyish playing. _They_ , for William had always included the children in his creating and building of dollhouse accessories, _they_ had made a garage for William Jr.'s toy cars, a stable/zoo for all the children's toy animals, and a little carousel for the dolls to ride on, and now, a toy swing-set as well.

The toy, with its three moving swings, exactly like the real swing-set in their backyard, had been quite easy to construct, and their father had promised them that they could all play with it – _**after**_ supper, and _**after**_ they had all had their baths and dressed for bed, and _**instead**_ of reading their bedtime story tonight. Although each of the children had started out by placing various dolls, or even toy soldiers, on the swings and swinging them back and forth, the older two children had moved on to more elaborate play elsewhere in the set-up. Chelsea, however, was still completely taken with the new toy, swaying her 'dollhouse Berry Bear' back and forth, back and forth, and seeming to have a detailed conversation with him, most of which sounded like gibberish to William, without showing any signs of tiring of the activity.

William had leaned back and become involved in observing his youngest do this. _He marveled that she had not become bored with the game._ Then he remembered _Julia telling him about something equally odd that William Jr. had done when he was Chelsea's age, and she had explained it as being due to something Freud called 'wish fulfillment.'_ The way he saw it, _Chelsea had an unconscious desire to master what she had failed to accomplish earlier – have her toy bear truly ride the swing by himself. And now there was immense fulfillment in having the little toy do just that…_

The front door sounded upstairs…

 _Julia was home._

All young eyes jumped to meet their father's.

"Go ahead," he encouraged, "Your mother will be wanting her hugs."

Thunderous, the footsteps racing up the stairs to greet her.

"Mommy!" no surprise William Jr. got there first, his mother wisely squatting down to the floor in anticipation of the vigor of the greeting.

He was quickly squeezed into her arms.

Barely enough time to brace herself for Katie barreling into her next. True to form, Katie would be the one to tell… well EVERYTHING about their day. Her face still burrowed in her mother's body she started, muffled, "Mommy! Mommy! William Jr. got a haircut at Mrs. Kittens…!"

Julia pull back from the little girl, to give the child air, and to reach for the arrival of the littlest one. She opened her arms wide, inviting Chelsea to her, as she corrected, "You mean Mrs. Kitchen's?"

Katie hovered and spoke and bounced with waiting to tell more.

William Jr., too, stuck close, having missed his mother all day.

Katie brushed a strand of her hair back from her face and said, "Yes… Mrs. Kit-chens…"

Julia stood, and turned her gaze back to Katie, the three little ones, now, lined up in front of her vying for her attention.

Katie went on, "And we had fried chicken…"

William Jr. interjected, "And mashed potatoes."

And Katie went on, "But we didn't have time to go to the park, so we just came home. And then we played outside. And then Daddy and us, we…"

And then her punchline was stolen…

William Jr. jumped in, telling, "We made swings!"

"More swings!" Julia declared, "I thought Daddy already made you a swing-set?"

"No Mommy," Katie scolded her silliness, "For the dollhouse…"

"Oh, I see! How fun," their mother exclaimed.

And then, for the first moment, Julia looked to William. He was leaning against the wall by the stairs the children had run up so quickly to greet her.

"You're annoyed," Julia observed, a mixture of disappointment and apprehension in her tone.

"It is quite late, Julia," he complained, "You have been gone all day. The children have had their baths. It's almost their bedtime. You've completely missed supper…"

"I assure you, William, it was unavoidable," she said, her hat, now off, and placed down on the foyer table. She cleared her throat, _revealing that she was pressed not to squeak_ , and added, "One of the women…" a swallow – for it would _still be hard to say this, she was abundantly aware that the children were looking on,_ "One of the women brought along a friend ," and then she attempted to whisper, "a friend to get an IUD, but the woman had symptoms of syphilis… unexpectedly, of course."

William seemed not to budge.

Julia shifted uncomfortably, her eyes away from his, then back up. "Um…" she blew out some pressure, "Not to mention that I had to… uh…" and then she decided to brave telling him the worst of it, "Um, well when I left the house this morning, uh… Miss Cherry was outside. She… uh, I was concerned she would follow me, and so I had to alter and mix and add to my routes throughout the day… to ensure that there was no one observing where I was going…" She sighed, and added, "It's part of what made me later… um, later than I would have been otherwise…" She left the sentence dangling there and searched his face.

There was a frown.

 _They both knew why._

 _This just provided more evidence that what she had chosen to do was dangerous and needed to be hidden._

Julia felt nauseous, but still she pushed herself onward. _She might as well tell him_ _ **all**_ _of the bad news…_

"Miss Cherry…" her voice had cracked, she swallowed and continued, "Um, asked about the case, um, with Mr. Beau Jangles…"

She saw it, the worry on his face overcoming his anger…

He lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What did you say, Julia?"

She swallowed again. "I… Well, William…" and then her speech raced, "She was besmirching your good character, and your skills, and I… I, uh…" And she remembered all of a sudden, out of nowhere – _William punching Darcy square in the nose for saying she was a whore,_ and the memory comforted her somewhat, for it provided hope that he would be able to understand, and so she went on, "I told her that if a man as reliable and brilliant as you are said that Mr. Beau Jangles was not the killer, then Mr. Beau Jangles was not the killer. And I told her that you would not abuse your power as a detective to unjustly imprison a Negro simply because he was a Negro, and that you were so much better than her, and the other members of the press as well, because they abused their power by attacking you in their headlines for doing the right thing, and in so doing inciting, well inciting public uproar to pressure you to cower to their racial prejudices…"

Her halt, there was abrupt.

 _Truth be told, she could not read the expression on William's face – anger, concern, pride…?_ All she saw for certain was his locked jaw and his ' _show-no-reaction-face,'_ and so she stepped back, and she decided it best, _reflecting on how amazingly slowly this obvious idea had come to her_ , the self-reproach causing her shake her head at herself, and she just said what she felt, and what she should have said to him all along, "I'm sorry, William. I really, truly, am. For everything… For being so late. And for telling Miss Cherry that you had evidence in the case, and that that evidence, you believed, indicated Mr. Beau Jangles was not the killer – I know you wanted to keep that out of the papers, so the real killer wouldn't know about it." She finally breathed, and wrinkled a corner of her mouth at him, his gesture now theirs, "I'm sorry.'

William pushed himself away from the wall, gave a quick glance down to the children. "Would you children like to show your Mommy the new toy swing-set while I heat up some of our supper for her?" he asked, already knowing it would bring joy.

"Oh yes!" William Jr. was the first to call out.

"Please come see, Mommy," Katie added, grasping her hand and beginning to drag Julia towards the steps.

Julia took hold of Chelsea's little hand on the other side.

"I'd be delighted," William heard her say to them as he made his way to the kitchen.

)

William hurried to place Julia's plate down on the table, despite knowing that now, since there was obviously a Chelsea tantrum exploding downstairs, it would be cold by the time she would be able to eat it.

By the time William arrived downstairs, Chelsea had been scooped up into her mother's arms, where the child, stiff as a board, wailed into her mother's shoulder. "Wanna swing!" she demanded, "Wanna swing! Wanna swing! Wanna swing!"

William and Julia's eyes met, and, over the wailing, Julia explained, "She wanted to sit on the toy swing herself and ride it."

William's eyebrow shot up. " _Preposterous!_ " he thought to himself.

"Shh, Little One," Julia rocked and bounced her.

If Chelsea were not so upset, Julia would have laughed. Instead she endeavored to explain, "She was showing me 'dollhouse Berry Bear' riding the swing, and she must have imagined – very vividly," Julia paused to stress this point, "how delicious it would feel to be riding the little toy swing. And she just… decided she wanted to ride it."

" _William would need more,"_ she thought. Another moment trying to settle and lull Chelsea, then she explained further, "She was so wrapped up in how much she wanted it that she could think of nothing else," she added, "There's not much more to it than that… Except, of course, that she could _**not**_ possibly ride the swing as she had imagined. And so, she got frustrated."

Chelsea's crying had not abated an iota, and so Julia turned all of her efforts on soothing the child. Her lips close to Chelsea's ear, she whispered, _so calm, making herself breathe, slowing her own heartbeat, softening her body against her baby girl,_ "I think it's time for bed, my sweet, sweet girl, hmm?"

Amazing, Chelsea took a breath, then much quieter repeated, "Wanna swing."

"I know. I know," her Mommy said to her, so close, so soft, "But you are very cranky, my Little One…"

The child shifted, switching sides, crying into Julia's other shoulder now, "Not canky!" she insisted as the wail reestablished.

Julia tenderly giggled. She brushed some of the thick curls from her little daughter's face, opening the space for air, for a gentle kiss at her cheek. Julia's eyes glanced to William's. She stepped his direction, beginning to carry the little girl up to her bedroom.

Julia hushed her, "Shh, Little One. 'Dollhouse Berry Bear' will be right there on the toy swing waiting for you tomorrow morning… And real Berry Bear is missing you. Right now, he's upstairs in your soft, soft bed, and he's wishing you were there hugging him tight, hmm?" The little one had stopped crying, her thumb now in her mouth, her head, awash in sweet banana curls, laid down onto her mother's soft shoulder.

There was a warm and wonderful magic in being completely helpless and being swaddled in another's care, a comfort like none other in all the world. William felt himself recognize that feeling as he empathized with his daughter, a deep part of himself, remembering, and longing, to be just like his little child, and to be so cared for.

Amazingly, little Chelsea was asleep by the time Julia got her up to her bed. Her mother tucked her stuffed teddy bear close to her, and she leaned down and gave them both a tender kiss goodnight. Next, she kissed Katie goodnight, with a whisper at her ear, "Sleep tight, Little One," and then her Daddy bent down and kissed her too. "Night-night, Peaches," he said. And all was well in the world, as the bedroom light clicked off, and the door was left opened, just a sliver.

)

After the children were tucked in, Julia went to the kitchen to eat the cold, warmed-over supper William had prepared for her. She found herself remembering _the unexpected hug she and William had shared_ _– "just over there, in front of the stove."_ Julia's brow wrinkled in doubt as she thought, " _Was it possible that that was just this morning?"_ Of course _, it was_ , but _it had been a very, very long day_. She sighed, _thoughts of Miss Cherry conjured… then of her telling William about her having disclosed much more than she wished she had revealed about his case._ She imagined _him, down in his workroom, grunting and sweating as he built up his muscles pushing his weights about._ Then she _wondered if he would ever actually make the exercise machine she had suggested_ … An answer came from inside of her somewhere, " _He drew-up the plans for it – on the other side of his black board."_ She had _seen the drawings there, when she flipped the board over for the children to learn to write their names._ Another big, big, sigh. _They had been fighting about this for such a long time now._ Her mind _moved on to the rest of the night_ , not conscious of the fact that she had decided _NOT_ to try to talk to him about resolving their problems. She would _take a shower – alone. Change into her nightgown. Read her novel. It would be another night apart… another night with William on the couch._

Before Julia went to bed, she stopped in at the threshold of his workroom. William was studying his blackboard. _"Probably thinking about how to handle the press tomorrow,"_ she thought to herself. She began to imagine _what terrible headlines Miss Cherry would write_. Abruptly, she pushed the thoughts away.

"Goodnight," she said.

"Goodnight," all he said in reply.

 _ **)**_

 _ **So foggy. So foggy. Dark. Eyes must be closed. Must be asleep. Or unconscious!**_

 _ **Julia's voice. That's Julia's voice…**_

" **Please forgive me, William."**

" **Please forgive me, William."**

 _ **Mechanical…, the way it repeats…**_

" **Please forgive me, William."**

" **Please forgive me, William."**

" **Please forgive me, William."**

" **Please forgive me, William."**

 _ **(Wham! Such a pounding in the heart…)**_

 _ **I've been unconscious OUTSIDE of James Gillies' cage – it's Julia who's trapped behind the bars!**_

 _ **Wake up!**_

 _ **I can see... Over at the edge of the cage. Miss Cherry pulling the gigantic dollstring. Miss Cherry's making Julia's voice repeat, each time she pulls the string!**_

 _ **So sleepy… Make yourself move, William! Roll over. Look. See if Julia's there!**_

 _ **Bars. Iron bars. Gillies' cage – Julia's in Gillies' cage?**_

 _ **Just her shoes – dangling above the floor. She's been hung!? Save her from the noose, William! Save her from the noose!**_

That jump, that jolt – it awakened him.

" _I'm on the couch. Julia's upstairs asleep – SAFE… She's safe,"_ the explanations raced in his brain, and for the first time, William breathed, " _Just a dream… It was just a dream."_ William breathed again, the adrenalin pooling in his muscles, hitting like dead weight now, the speed of his own heart worrying, so fast he wondered _whether he might die from it?_

Reality settled in around him. Moonlight illuminating the living room with its ghostly light. His own breathing sounded so loud, so close. He blew out some of the pressure through his pursed lips, working to calm down. He rolled over onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. Inner reflections came, about the dream. _Things were switched around from what had really happened when James Gillies had trapped him. Julia was in the cage; he was locked outside of it._ A suggestion crossed _, "Maybe it was because Julia had been in prison back then – the cage was like the prison?"_

William _didn't think so, it felt nearer, more recent, closer_. He figured, then, that _it was probably his fear that Julia WOULD get caught eventually,_ for what she's doing, now, with all the _**illegal**_ things she's doing.

" _Particularly bold – her IUD study…"_ his own voice noted.

Another breath, eyes still up on the pale white of the ceiling.

He _wondered if Julia's impulsiveness in deciding to secretly perform the IUD contraception study was like a grown-up sort of wish-fulfillment, that perhaps her own pent-up helplessness as a woman had driven her to take charge._

" _She'd certainly done that before,"_ the thought rose up as he remembered _that desperate, devastating, day in the morgue when she told him she was sterile, and she was going to Buffalo – that she had decided to assert control herself._ He felt such profound sadness, _never really given the chance NOT to reject her as she had expected, the ring sitting in his drawer for years…_

Interrupting his thoughts, an image from the dream flared up – _Miss Cherry, outside of the cell, pulling the over-sized dollstring, making Julia talk… "Miss Cherry pulling the strings,"_ he rephrased the statement in his mind. _Curious,_ what the irritating lady-reporter meant in the dream. William considered, " _Yes, it's true, Miss Cherry tricked Julia into talking about the case, but this dream… this dream seems so much worse, so much more dire, than the papers giving away that there is evidence pointing to another killer…_ "

 _Dig deeper_ , his instincts pushed him.

" _Of course,"_ the awareness came, _"Miss Cherry was in the dream because you're more worried about Miss Cherry_ _ **following**_ _Julia, about Miss Cherry_ _ **catching**_ _Julia, than you ever could be about Miss Cherry finding out details about the case. If Miss Cherry found out about Julia's study, then the whole world would find out. Yes, that's definitely it!_ " William lay there, in the middle of the night, and he accepted the magnitude of what his dream had meant. _His biggest nightmare was about the world finding out what Julia was doing, and imprisoning her behind bars for doing it…_ And then he remembered _her dangling shoes_ , and then he felt a terror grip him, because it was _even worse than that, she could hang for it. And what happened this morning with Miss Cherry just proved how close it could be._

William's eyes darted towards the dining room. He had remembered her whiskey in there. " _I suppose I considered it,"_ he admitted to himself. Then he remembered _drinking her whiskey to cope with his fear,_ _ **this same fear,**_ _the other night. "Bad move,"_ he scolded himself. William took a deep breath, knowing the memory would come, and with it shame and regret. _Unavoidable, unchangeable, the fact that he had swallowed down some of Julia's whiskey and then, emboldened, charged up the stairs, and tried to_ _ **force**_ _her to stop_. The corner of his mouth wrinkled, _admitting to the moonlight that that had been a big mistake_. He turned over to huddle closer to the back of the couch. " _Definitely no whiskey_ ," he sighed. " _Maybe counting sheep…?"_

)

It was later, later in the middle of the night. Julia made her way down the stairs. _She missed him so that she could not take it anymore._ The light from the moon made the front of the house so bright that there was no trouble seeing the furniture… _the couch… William's black hair on his white pillow. He was asleep. Odd, how half of her was relieved and the other half of her was disappointed_. Her indecision about waking him caused various muscles in her body to twitch, some charged to move to touch him, to wake him, others to make a sound, to call his name, still others halting those. _She imagined crawling under the sheet and snuggling with him. Maybe he wouldn't stop her._

" _Be brave… Leave him be…"_ over and over again the pendulum of advice swung from one side to the other.

Exhaustion, in the end, utter exhaustion from the suffering, Julia sat herself down in his recliner across from where William slept on the couch. _She had given up_ , and that completely broke her heart, and she began to cry.

)

Later, even later in the middle of the night, William woke up. He had a sense _he was not alone_ , already looking in the direction of his suspicions before he had had a second to think of _who… where… why_? The light remained strong through the front living room windows, and he saw her there clearly, _Julia was sleeping in his reclining chair_. And, _oh, there was such an aching in his heart_ with seeing her there, with knowing _she was hurting so badly, that she longed so much to be close to him._ It stole his breath, and William felt an urge to cry. He moved, pushed the emotions away. He sat up, rubbed at his hair, at his head. A big exhale through pursed lips, he imagined time forward to the morning. _He would need to wake her. The children… he would need to wake her for the children._

He went to her, bent over to tenderly shake at her shoulder. "Julia," he whispered in an effort not to startle her, "Julia."

She roused.

"Julia. You fell asleep," he said. "One of us should go upstairs – the children will be frightened if no one is there in the morning," he explained.

"Yes. Yes. Of course, you're right, William," she said her tone sleepy, foggy, misty. _She felt him so close, and he did not move away, and she missed him, my God, she missed him…_

Julia reached up and cupped his cheek. "Sit with me," she urged him. "Sit with me, like we did when we had our first big fight," she said, her thumb noting the stubble on his chin, her words conjuring up the _memories of that night after they had fought behind the stationhouse when she found out he had punched Darcy, and they had reconciled by talking together, all night long, in his reclining chair in his office._

"No, Julia," he tried to say it gently. He solemnly removed her hand from his cheek, from his chin.

"Then come upstairs with me, lie with me, be with me, love me, William," she found herself collapsing into pleading with him, her voice scratching, and rising, and weakening, with its intensity.

His brain flashed a memory, of _him sneaking to her through the dark, Toronto night, meeting her secretly in an alleyway._ He heard her voice in his mind all over again, squeaky and shaky, strained, and tugging at his heart, and melting his soul at each and every one of its edges with its quivering intensity, " _Life without you William_ ," she had said to him after he had lost her, after she had turned down his proposal of marriage and they had both been shocked by their unexpected parting, " _Life without you, William, is worse than death…"_

William stood up, and the fragile touch between them broke off. He stood there before her, and she sat up in his chair, and she searched for his beautiful eyes in his silhouette, for the moonlight, white, shone from behind him, and she poured her heart out, begging, "I miss you, William. I miss you so much. And it hurts… It hurts, having you mad at me. I said I was sorry. I am… sorry, William…"

 _There was the tightening of his jaw, and she knew..._

William asked, sternly, already suspecting, already knowing, the answer, "You say are sorry, well then the least you could do is agree to stop, Julia. Agree _NOT_ to do it anymore. Admit that it was a mistake, but you'll stop. Agree that you won't risk breaking the law anymore…?"

Julia held his gaze, and she stuttered inside, _wanting to give him this, but also knowing that it was her very being that was called to help, to correct the wrongs of the world – to correct the wrongs if she could, and with this, she could._ Her head, so subtly, began to shake her subconscious " _no_."

Nausea overcame him, the universe taking on a tilting, tipping, sickening spin. He moved away, away from where she sat in his chair, away from where she had just begged him to lie with her, to love her. Weak, he leaned his weight onto the fireplace mantel, considered, imagined, vomiting into the charcoal-burned pit. _He had to sway her – he had to._ Without looking to her, he would speak his heart, "I love the life we've built together, Julia. I never dreamed I could be so happy. And you are the very center of that world. If I lose you, my whole world will collapse." William turned back to her, their eyes meeting in the lunar light. His heart was beating so fast, his breaths heaving so rapidly. William now the one shaking his head 'no,' he said, "It's not worth the risk, Julia… And what happened with Miss Cherry this morning… her possibly following you, it only proves that that risk is very real!" he pleaded, and he felt so queasy, _so queasy_. He approached her again, and then kneeled down before her in his chair. "Agree to stop. We can be happy with that. Hope no one ever finds out that you researched these things, that you taught these things…"

"I can't, William," her answer came within a heartbeat, the swiftness telling that her decision was certain.

 _Somehow, he had not expected her to say no._ A wave of anger ripped at the pit of his stomach. He retreated abruptly, removed himself from before her, and returned to his place at the solid mantelpiece, staring down into the darkened shadows of the cold, ash-stained firebox. There he fought to keep the fury at bay. _"How could she…?"_ his brain demanded to know, _while images of their oldest daughter, still so small, little Katie, a melding of remembering the little girl sobbing in the carriage, heartbroken with her memories of losing her and Chelsea's mother, and being comforted through the wave of that, hugged close, loved and cared for and nurtured, in the softness of Julia's bosom, and this picture blending, being followed by his imagining how unbearable it would be for such a tattered child to lose Julia too, after that…_

" _No,"_ his guiding voice insisted inside his head _, "Julia would not do this if she truly grasped the potential consequences of it…_ William swallowed, then inhaled, and, air in his lungs once again, the angry words came out. "You're being stubborn. Selfish. You're a mother, Julia. Our beautiful little boy, those two beautiful little girls… How could they bear it, to lose another mother in their short lives…? Our children could lose their _**MOTHER,**_ if you get caught, Julia!" he yelled his anguish at her.

And it lingered between them, _the memory, the awareness, that William, too, had suffered such a fate as a young boy,_ the subliminal knowing tremoring the ground between them.

Their eyes locked, the pull between them so strong it seemed to hum in their ears. _My God, she wanted to try,_ _but the truth is she knew in her heart that she could not_. Julia tried to speak, to say something, but faltered, and a flash ran inside her head of remembering _the expression on William's face that awful moment after she had told him that she was sterile,_ and he had stuttered, voiceless, devastated, in front of her. " _Perhaps…_ " she wondered, " _that's how I look to him now?"_

William broke off the gaze. Tears had threatened in the back of his throat, tingling and stinging behind his eyes, for he had seen it in her eyes, _she would not, she would not stop._

"William…"

 _It was odd, her voice suddenly so solid and strong…_

She leaned closer to him from where she sat in his chair, reaching for him, turning him back to face her, as she said, "It would be like asking you _NOT_ to run towards the sound of shots being fired, _NOT_ to run towards cries for help in an alleyway…"

"You have asked me to do that," he reminded her, and then softened as he added, "At least, not to do it alone."

"And have you William… done as I asked? Or is it not that you have risked your very last breath, plummeting yourself down into a fused rocket barrel with mere seconds to disarm it, or venturing into an abandoned sawmill, seeking to find evidence of the victim's body being chopped up, despite all the while knowing that the killer likely lurked near, ultimately, to literally, almost having your own head sawed off. And then, have you not tried to hide these things from me? I ask you, William, have _YOU_ stopped, as I have asked you to do?" her eyes held to his, burned and burrowed into him, the knowing, the honesty, between them so overpowering that he had to look away, pointless to answer her.

Julia said so lowly that it lured with the sweetness of intimacy, "It would be like asking you _NOT_ to be you, William," her voice revealing to him that tears had welled in her eyes…

And in his too, for he had grasped the whole of it now, and he had had to accept it in that moment. _He loved THIS woman, as much for her rebellious bravery in healing the ills of the world as in her beauty and her wit and her humor. It was a part of her good heart. And with this, he knew he would not ask her to stop, and that terrified him so that he couldn't breathe._

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stand from his chair. His head hummed as she grew closer.

Julia voice seemed to whisper its breath into his ear, "The magic we have, the perfect match in every way that we have both felt from the start… It is that we absolutely adore each other specifically for what we each are, because of the shape of each of us, down to our cores, William. It is because of who we each are that we fit together as we do… These things that make us each who we are, these are exactly the things we love about each other, are they not? That's the magic. We found it, William – true love, because we found in each other someone who loves us precisely _FOR_ who we each are, not in spite of it…" she argued, placing into words for him what his heart had felt.

He cleared his throat and nodded, turning to her to touch his eyes to hers, revealing his vulnerability in accepting that truth for that slightest second, in the pale moonlight.

Julia's voice deepened, lowered, coming from the most tucked away, hidden part of herself now, as she said, "What I truly regret, deeply, and sincerely, is not telling you…" _And the deep blue pools of her eyes, like gravity, the magnetism there, lured him closer, quickened his breaths._ "It was a secret that troubled me to the marrow of my bones, William… I promise you that. But I couldn't let you talk me out of it. I just couldn't. This study… it's so important. It's like, since time primordial, women have been in a cage, a cage made, not just by men, but by all of humanity, and the bars are biology. And this IUD, William – it's the key! I have made a key that opens that cage door! I couldn't… I just couldn't let anything stop me, not with so much at stake – all women, ALL women, could be free."

She paused. " _Please…"_ _she wished so hard that he would nod, that he would agree._

William exhaled, for he had not seen the significance of the discovery she had made in that light before, and it was big, truly big. And he nodded, and then wrinkled the corner of his mouth.

 _And, amazingly, she loved him even more. And she regretted so badly that she had hurt him. And he was right, it was dangerous… VERY dangerous._ And then the idea came to her, _even though it was not the first time she had thought it, she realized now, that there was a way to minimize the risk, and she would take it. She would tell him… in a minute. But first, she had to tell him how sorry she was for deceiving him._ And so, she stepped even a little closer to him and she said, "I am truly sorry I hid it from you…" _Every cell in her wanted to touch him_. "My _**not**_ telling you… it never gave you the chance to try to talk me out of it, or even, perhaps, to choose to join me, to help me _**not**_ get caught, together, as my partner… as the man who, I know, loves me, with all his heart. And I hope, for I know I have no control over it, so I hope, that you can come to trust me, despite my mistake…"

William, _somehow closer, an invisible tilt to her_ , had decided that he would confess his deepest regret as well, to weld, to seal, to fuse, their bond with the heat of truth. He cleared his throat, digging down, and he gave, "And I sincerely regret ever doubting you, even for a second, about… about killing Darcy, Julia. I… I, uh…"

Her chin tucked down, _a hint there of her feeling her own strength_ , "It was understandable… very understandable, that a man, a man such as yourself… And I so love you for it, William… searching for the truth, adamant and committed to the truth… And, it is clear, the evidence left little room for my innocence," her head softly shook side-to-side with remembering the bleakness of it. Eyes back up, the vow in them undoubtable, "It is behind us now," she said. "I know, in all the world, no one believes in me more than you do William," she gave, "I know that in my heart."

"I do," he said. "Your idea… it is truly brilliant, and terribly important. I see that now." He was about to tell her about his plan to help hide her work on her study, but she stepped back, and she changed the subject.

"I always knew I would need to publish anonymously," she said, a glint in her eye. "But, I can do better…"

And then she giggled, for he had lifted an eyebrow at her.

"William, there is a German scientist, Dr. Richard Richter, researching on silkworm-gut IUDs. I will send him the results of my study, anonymously. He can redo it. He can publish, instead of me! The world will know!" she gleed.

"You will give up your place in history," he acknowledged, and then added, "But, it seems, Dr. Ogden, that fame was never your goal," he smiled, clear that he admired her for it. "And I have a way to help divert suspicion away from the actual research…"

"Oh?" she questioned, expectedly.

"Yes," his pride showed…

 _And her heart glowed with seeing it…_

Boy-like excitement lit up his face as he told her, "I have been working on an idea. I call it an ULTRA-sound…" his hand drifted through the air, accentuating his title.

And she knew in that moment, that she was not alone, that _she had never been alone, that she had never been without him. He had always been by her side. She already knew that his plans were on his blackboard, on the flipside._ "William!" she interrupted him, "That's what you've drawn on the other side of your blackboard downstairs, isn't it?!"

He nodded, beaming for having made her so happy. "We can research its effectiveness in seeing into the womb, to actually ' **see** ' the fetus, with soundwaves, like with my graphizer," he rushed to explain. "It can serve as a fake study, of sorts," he added, and then pinched his lips together and then wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting he knew it was wonderful.

Julia's heart fell madly in love, again, again, with this magnificent man. Her expression changed, became serious… and focused, and a bit hungry, and he felt such a whirlwind tumble him.

"So…" she almost purred it as she stepped closer…

"Better?" she asked him.

"Yes and no," he wrinkled his face in doubt, glimpsing at her with just a peek before his eyes darted away, for he too felt that their troubles were resolved, but he was left with a deep and debilitating terror that he would lose her someday, a terror that he had been abating with anger, and with the belief that he could make her stop, stop the danger that now seemed unavoidable with this acceptance of the risk.

"Better between us?" she warmed him as she stepped even closer still, encroaching, melding, his aura with hers, beginning the dizzying resonance his very soul longed for.

"Better between us," he agreed. He looked deeper into her eyes and pinched his lips together, sweetly crooked at the edge, admitting it was so.

They stood together, now, fixed, mended, resolved, but still distant. Her beautiful husband, stiff and defended, despite their repairs.

"William," she encouraged, her tone melty, "We are here together now. We have each other now. Our love should be cherished rather than horded for fear we will lose it, for it is as if we've loved each other since before the first breath of the wind, and I know we will love each other until the winds blow no more. Nothing, no one, can take that from us, not a love like this." And as she leaned in, and her eyes dropped lower, he felt the world begin to spin.

"Very good," all he said, his voice raspy now, for the fall had begun.

Julia's fingers over his ear, into his hair…

 _Like a storm in the desert… he had grown resistant and dry, and now there was water, precious, sweet, slippery water, so prayed for, and, and he knew, and she knew, that if it hit too hard and fiery, the succulence would only run-off of him like a downpour over a cracked and scorched sunbaked desert floor, and all of that luscious water would simply flood away before soaking-in, taking with it that which was most crucial._

Her first kiss landed softly, a breath, almost a gasp, and then another, even softer kiss after that one, and with it, promise, a secret and precious promise of more, as her body rolled into his.

"Bigger," he said…

And she chuckled, for the word lingered with the sting and the innocence of the memory of their tiny daughter's, of all of their young children's, urgent insistence.

And this next kiss was curled at the edges with the lingering of her smile. And then, with that next kiss, she kissed him, deep, deep in, and deep, deep down, filling up each and every one of his senses until the colors and the smells and the slipping and jiggling and smushing and sliding and hot, hot, steamy breaths, and the delicious taste of her, bulged over the edges of him waiting for, yearning for, the thunderous and imminent moment of overflow. _Oh yes, it definitely got bigger._

Pajama buttons had been undone. Hands all over the flesh of the other. The wave had hit, and the rush was on. Suddenly, William pushed her back. And they held each other there at a slight distance in their long glance. For a moment it was as if they had stepped out, and they were taking in the joy of reuniting, of loving each other for who they each were, loving each other so much that it felt that their hearts would burst.

Julia took charge. She stepped back from him another step, lifted her nightgown over her head and dropped it away to the ground. The curves of her in the moonlight made it utterly hard for him to breathe. Seductively, her fingers slipped up to lusciously caress and travel her own body. She had thoroughly captured him, _soft touch to smooth flesh_ , firmly, her touch, up from her thigh, her palm across her hip bone, fingers over her belly, in for the dip of her waist, up her ribs, and William Murdoch made a little, tiny, desperate, sound as he tried to remain in control. And he saw her smile at his struggle, and the world only spun faster. And the earth shook as she stepped back to him, closer. And he felt the heat of her… And her fingers on his few remaining pajama buttons. Down, down, down. And as she slipped her hands in, "Mmm," she admired him, and she slid the cottony fabric up and over his shoulders to expose his bare his chest, so they could touch, _nothing between them… nothing between them…_

 _William Murdoch had had as much waiting, teasing, holding himself back, as he could take. And, my oh my, how deliciously Julia Ogden swooned when he let that primal male side of him go, and how the sight, and the sound, and the weight, and the drop and the fall, and the taste and the smell and the feel of her succumbing to him urged him on, wildly, jungle heat pumping through his veins, his breath surging and hot and demanding. He would have her. He would have her now._

She was lifted into his arms, spun and dropped to the couch. His eyes seemed to take in the very whole of her lying there, gazing up at him, helpless, heaving out of breath, gorgeous. He would take what he wanted.

Julia's head spun as he reached for his pajama bottoms.

 _This was…_

And the only cloth between them dropped to the floor. _And he was magnificent_. And he leaned over her, and he opened her legs.

 _was going to…_

And he put his knee down on the couch between her creamy thighs. And the entire world tilted her to him as he kneeled before her.

 _happen…_

And his strong, hard, body leaned down over her. His arms sliding up along her sides, tucking under her shoulders. His… _mmm_ … his chest pressing down into her. His fingers in her hair. Fists, _he took her hair in his fists. A bit rough,_ he pulled her down. And…

 _NOW…_

He pushed into her. Breached her. Ruptured her. His mouth over hers, his kiss absorbing her moan, her moan so desperate it was more like a tiny whimper, and his thrusts grew stronger.

And trillions and trillions of lustrous red-hot beams seared directly to the spot where they melded, heating, warming, exciting, charging, building as William began to move faster and harder and deeper and closer. _My God to move like that_. It seemed possible she would never survive the pleasure of it.

"William…"

 _There had been a breath._

"Don't stop."

 _Her begging only urged him on._

"Please don't… stop…"

 _And the succulent drawing back, tugging back, the inhale of the oceans, of the tide, of the walls and world and the universe around them told that the wave was coming… and that it would be mercilessly big_ , and he pumped into her with all his might for the last tiny inch, for they both knew _the implosion now, the explosion now, it was inevitable… and it was going to be… devastatingly… huge._

And the rush hit them, both of their moans drowned away in the flood flipping them, floating them, plummeting them. Heaven on earth. Gushes and gushes of warm sweetness flowing outward and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

 _Please, one more._

 _Mmm. One more…_

 _Oh, yes._

And then it was done and quiet and so, so sweet, as the world rocked and recovered and hushed, save for the rapid pounding of their hearts. And they both knew it would last only for a short while, so they basked together, tangled and mushed and melted together, there on the couch, down in the living room, exhausted and grateful and so very, very alive with the joy of having discovered that to live is to be true to yourself, but to thrive… to thrive is to be loved FOR your true self. And tonight, this night, William and Julia uncovered an even more profound truth, that to flourish – _**to absolutely radiate life, that can only happen when you LOVE ANOTHER for who they truly are, down to their very core.**_ And so, yes, this moment was precious. And they savored it and then they fell asleep there, together, as it should be with these two, always, always and forever, together.

)) ((


	9. 9: To Live is to Muddle Through

Chapter 9: To Live is to Muddle Through

The figure of the Murdoch's housekeeper silhouetted the living room entryway, and her smile grew big on her face in response to what she saw before her, in the dim dawning light. The older woman greedily perused the floor, entirely gripped by what she saw there. His pajama top, unbuttoned, dropped to the floor in front of the fireplace, the doctor's white nightgown only a few feet away. Right next to the couch, the detective's pajama bottoms had finally met their fate, now gracing the floor as well. The story told by the dropped-away nightclothes revealed the luscious nakedness of the couple under the detective's sheet, now lying there on the couch, huddled together, sound asleep and content.

Eloise could imagine, _vividly_ , what had unfolded in the living room in the middle of the night. " _No lack of a romantic spark when it comes to the doctor and the detective,"_ she acknowledged, and then she told herself that she was _only glad that that spark had re-ignited their flame,_ for Eloise adored this couple, and she couldn't be happier to know that they had resolved whatever it was that had come between them for the past two weeks.

By the time Eloise would make a loud enough noise to rouse them, she would be safely away in the kitchen.

)

 _ **Oh,**_ **how her whole body delighted in the delicious tremblings of their flirtation. "** _ **Bigger,**_ **" William's raspy voice teased her. "** _ **Oh, I'll give you bigger**_ **," her inner-voice's lust throbbed and torqued her womb…**

!CLANG!

A big metallic _bang_ knocked Julia out of her scrumptious dream.

 _The clanking of a pan,_ pictured inside of Julia's head _as she imagined observing from above, as a shiny metal pan hit against the stovetop,_ creating the sound that she had just heard, through the fog of her deep sleep. _Mmm_ , she floated for a second in the lingering pleasure of the dream, and in the sweet ripples of the soundest sleep she had known for weeks… _She was certain that was that sound_ , she thought as she woke, " _A pan,"_ the sounds of the words beginning to solidify into meaning. Connections fired – _Kitchen – Eloise – Couch – William_ … And then her skin felt his skin, and her soul heard his breaths, and she remembered they had made up, and that they had made love, and tears spilled into her eyes, tears of joy, joy and relief, and gratitude.

Her lips kissed at his neck before she spoke. _Unable to stop herself_ , she breathed in the scent of him, deep, deep down into her, and she let her cheek rub across the hunky stubble along his jawline, and her womb, already hungry, walloped her with wanting him.

"William," so hot, her whisper.

She moved, slid her naked body along his, under the silky feel of the sheets.

"William," she said it a bit louder, then kissed at his ear.

Her heart ached with its outpouring of love for this man, this _wonderful, wonderful_ , man.

And the sensations dizzied her into a spiral, as her fingers scratched through his hair, rousing full-body memories of _his fists squeezing tight into her hair_ at the tipping point of his magnificently vigorous lovemaking last night.

"William," her voice called him to wake.

And she watched as he touched her eyes, and so quickly, he smiled, and she knew _he had remembered too._

Cockiness in his voice, he leaned closer, "Good morning," he said, and then slipped his strong hand around the small of her back and pulled her closer.

"Oh William," she pushed him away, reluctantly. "We can't… Eloise will…"

 _Mmm, his lush kisses at her neck…_

Breathless, she tried again, "William… Eloise is in the other room…"

His breath, rushed and hot, thundered down over her shoulder, betraying the force and depth of the passion he would need to curb.

"Eloise," he said, trying to find reason in her request that he stop… and not stopping.

As a matter of fact, she could _distinctly_ feel his passion growing harder down lower, and it stirred her own desires so that her head began to plummet.

She weakened, surrendered, turning to find his mouth with hers, and allowing him to drown her in a kiss.

 _Oh, bad idea,_ for the sweetness of it was almost unbearable.

 _Could the housekeeper have known they needed help stopping themselves…?_

Another _BANG_ from the kitchen rang through the air.

And their kiss broke off.

And only little nibbles now, at the tender flesh of a neck, soft sucking at the lobe of an ear.

And a sigh.

"Eloise," he said, resigning himself to the disappointment.

"Yes," so gloriously out of breath, she answered him, "Eloise… unfortunately," she added with a coy giggle.

William shifted to prop himself up on his elbow, resting his head into his hand, and his captivating brown eyes, in this warm, low, light, explored the rich contours of her face. He grasped one of her wayward curls in his fingers. "You are so beautiful," he told her…

Prompting her to tip a creamy shoulder forward, and then wiggle seductively at him, replying, "Why, thank you detective…"

And making him smile, smile so big he could never have muted it. _Almost_ , he kissed her again, but something… something in the back of his brain… niggled, ceasing the plan.

William cleared his throat, his look more businesslike and austere. "We should be upstairs," he said, "The children will be up soon."

Julia practically leaped out from under the covers, that is, before she remembered she was completely nude.

William pushed her back down, held her down. "Allow me, milady," he winsomely said. He rolled over the top of her, placing himself on the outside edge of the couch, and then he sat up, then leaned down to pick up his pajama bottoms and he slipped them on. Chivalrously, he brought Julia's nightgown to her, and then retrieved his own pajama top, slipping it on and buttoning up most of the buttons.

On tiptoes, the couple slinked up the stairs, undetected, they hoped, by Eloise and the children. Once safely inside, their bedroom door, with the tiniest bump, closed securely, and in a rush, the couple dove happily into their marital bed.

 _ **It was too bad that there wasn't enough time, for otherwise they would most certainly have consummated that bed all over again.**_

Julia settled her head down on William's shoulder, and for a moment, they simply breathed and felt the hurried thumpings of their hearts.

Thoughts turned to the workday ahead.

Her tone revealing her regret, Julia said, "I'm afraid Miss Cherry's headline will be waiting for you."

"Mmm," all he gave in reply, for William's mind had skipped right over the reporter-lady's likely-toxic article and landed instead on the fear that he had felt when Julia first told him that Miss Cherry had _almost_ followed her yesterday as she traveled to her secret locations, and met with her hidden ' _subjects,_ ' to implant illegal IUDs in the women. _The panic gripped at him all over again_ , nauseating him. And his _urgent desire to alleviate this fear drove him to refocus on how extremely imperative it was that they do_ _ **everything**_ _in their power to keep this all a secret._

"Julia," he said, the exaggerated calmness in his voice signaling that he was stifling a rather powerful emotion…

Next to him, Julia found herself holding her breath, _dreading that that emotion was anger, anger which he was working to hold at bay, anger at her… for her role in Miss Cherry's impending story._

William propped himself up on an elbow and began fiddling with one of her curls…

 _The action suggested intimacy and care, and Julia breathed a sigh of relief…_

"Perhaps," he said, "we should start, sooner rather than later, conducting our decoy study… My invention," he cleared his throat, "the ULTRAsound is by no means completely functional, but we could use what I have and start to collect data." He thought further, adding, "We'll need to backdate records, so it appears we began at the same time you did… with your study."

She snuggled in deeper underneath him with a resurgence of the absolute joy she had felt upon discovering last night that he had been planning to help her all along. "I so wanted to tell you William, how brilliant I think you are…" her eyes danced across his face. "The plans… um… I saw them… on the flipside of your blackboard…"

He nodded. He remembered _she had said so last night…_

And she suddenly had _so much to say_ that her brain shot down multiple pathways, and she _worried she would never be able to remember them all, to tell him them all…_ "I… I, I didn't recognize them for what they were at first," she hurried to explain. "Your drawings. I, um… I recognized the graphizer… and the tele-vision you had made with Nicholas Tesla, but, um… well…" her head took to shaking, _still in awe of this man_ , "Well, honestly William, how did you ever come up with the idea to use them to see _INSIDE_ a human body, to see _INSIDE_ of a woman's womb?! It's remarkable!" she adored.

 _Oh, she only loved him more when he shrugged modestly, and, somehow, managed to beam with pride at the same time._

William's first thought was simply to answer her question. "The human body is mostly water," he said matter-of-factly, and _then he shot her that side-wards glance that always rocked her world, him checking to see if she was still watching him._ "And, the graphizer performed well in 'seeing' underwater, so…" he wrinkled a corner of his mouth…

She smiled – _BIG_ – and cupped his cheek admirably. "Yes William, that it most certainly did," she said. "If your invention could find a sunken boat under Lake Ontario," she figured aloud, "then I suppose finding an anomaly, or a fetus…" and then she lifted her lips close to his ear to whisper this next part, "or even an IUD…" and then she dropped under him again to gaze up into his big brown eyes, continuing, "inside of a womb… well, it is not that different." Still, she shook her head marveling at him.

In an effort to ground himself from the floating she was filling him with, William grabbed onto whatever solid thought came to mind. It was an image, a memory, of _the drawings of his plans on his blackboard, and with them, there was the unexpected discovery of the names the children had each written along the bottom. He had been meaning to ask her…_

"Julia," he somehow drew her breath out of her with his intrigue, "On the blackboard… You were teaching them… the children, you were teaching them how to write their names?" he asked.

"I was," she nodded. You would have been very impressed, I believe, William. Even Chelsea was able to write her name, after I wrote it out for her first, and then she mimicked the writing." _But this next part, this next part was so exciting_ that she propped herself up on her elbow to look more directly at him before she told it. "Your son," she started, then changed it, "Our son…" and she paused, and she shook her head, and she said, "He asked something that was so odd… at first. William Jr. asked me if we could do it 'the opposite way…"

William wrinkled his face, puzzled. "Opposite of what?" he asked her.

"Now, that's exactly what I thought," she found herself out of breath, "He meant the opposite to _ME_ telling him which letters…"

William's questioning eyebrow rose upwards…

"William," she leaned to him, still amazed, "He wondered if _HE_ could write the words down, and then I would tell him what they were…!"

William clarified, " _ **William Jr.**_ would write the words…?!" but then he remembered _the odd list of words he had seen written on the board in his son's handwriting,_ and being William Murdoch, he remembered them exactly, and he said them out, "eggs, vanilla, brown sugar!"

"Yes William! Yes!" Julia gleed. "I must have looked quite puzzled, because he huffed impatiently, as you do sometimes when your ideas are faster or bigger or more intricate than I can catch up with in that one fleeting second, and then _HE WROTE THEM DOWN_ ," she exclaimed. "He remembered them from Eloise's shopping list! He has it, William! Your memory! He has it!" Julia declared, her voice squeaking with her overflowing delight.

And William could do nothing in response but shake his head, _because it was remarkable and wonderful, and he was proud, and delighted too, and she had complimented him, his powerful and unique memory, too_ , and that part made him blush, and really, _he was just wholly overwhelmed._

Julia squeezed him, and she kissed him. "He even spelled 'vanilla' correctly," she whispered, "He doesn't even know what it is… Although they all knew it was a flavor of ice cream…"

That's when they heard them then out in the hallway, the little pitter-patter of their footsteps, and then the sweet knock.

Julia whispered to him, "Let them hear _YOU_ invite them in, William," anticipation on her breath…

A warm glee donned their faces as they shared a look, for _their children were going to be so very, very happy to see BOTH their mother AND their father, here together, in this bed this morning._

"Come in," William said, his voice as deeply baritone and nonchalant as he could pull off with this much of a smile already on his face.

"Daddy!" all three of their children squealed in unison, "Daddy's here!" they shrieked and exclaimed and exploded through the door. And as fast as their feet could carry them, they ran to William's side of the bed and jumped into his waiting arms.

Julia teased, complainingly, "And what am I – chopped liver?"

"Mommy," they spread their hugs to include her.

Out of breath, Katie yelled, "Mommy, Daddy's here! Daddy's here!"

"Yes, he is," Julia answered her, feeling her own heart beating like wildfire in her chest.

"You kissed and made up?" William Jr. asked.

"We did," she answered him, and her brain teased, _somewhere more private_ , inside of her head, subconsciously pricking an eyebrow up as she thought it to herself, " _Kiss and much, MUCH more…"_

William Jr. crawled into the tiny gap between his mother and his father, and he joined them in leaning back against the headboard. The girls settled into their parent's laps.

William decided, as he stroked at little Chelsea's curls, to breach the subject of his and Julia's fighting. "People, even people who love each other very, very much, fight sometimes. Your mother and I, even you and me, fight with each other sometimes, like when you don't want to put on your clothes, or you don't want to stop playing and go to bed. But they work it out. They always work it out. And your mother and I will fight with each other too, but remember, we will work it out…"

Chelsea asked, the closest she could get to making sure, "Daddy-bed here?"

Julia leaned over nearer to her little three-year old and said reassuringly, "Yes, your Daddy's bed is here. And Mommy and Daddy made up after their fight."

However, _as was not uncommon to happen_ , William went on to explain in more detail, "The point is, no matter how bad the fight you have with your brother, or your sister, or with your Mommy or with me, you still love your sister, or your brother… And you will still love Mommy and me, no matter how mad you are at us. And your sister, or your brother, or me or your Mommy, we… they… still love you too, no matter how mad everybody was. And I promise you three, that the way we all love each other, there's nothing that can stop that, no fight, no matter how big it is, no 'Daddy-sleeping-on-the-couch,' nothing, can stop that love, ever."

Julia inserted, cautioning him, "William, there is quite a difference, um, well, between two adults, and between two siblings, or between a parent and a child… And besides, I think Chelsea, at least, is too little to fully understand right now."

 _Accepting that Julia was probably right_ , William stood from the bed and lifted his youngest daughter high into the air, and jiggled and juggled her about, evoking immense laughter form the small child. "Are you too little?" he asked her through his twinkling brown eyes and his happy, playful smile, "Too little…? Too little?"

And then the idea came to him, _exciting and fun_ …

He would _**play at stretching little Chelsea, to make her bigger**_ , which he immediately began to do, grabbing her ankles at one end, and tucking his other arm hugged tight around the child's tiny chest, and then feigning pulling them apart. "Let's make her bigger," he teased as he grunted with pretended effort. "Julia," he called to his wife, "Take an end. Let's stretch her out to make her bigger."

 _Great fun_ , Julia quickly joined in, jumping off the bed and hurrying to the foot of the bed where William handed her the foot-end of little Chelsea.

 _ **Now, most assuredly, William Jr. and Katie were not going to be left out of this game!**_

Each of the other two older children rushed to their parent's sides and tugged vigorously at their parent's nightgowns and pajamas. "Me too! Me too," came their eager requests.

And then the game got really fun, because William and Julia, _simultaneously it seemed_ , thought to rock the child bridged between them, with bigger and bigger swings, back and forth, higher and higher, the ultimate target a wild, flat-out, soaring flight, to plop the small child's body down onto the big, soft, pillowy, bed.

Julia began the count, "One…! Two…! THREE!"

 _And whoosh…_

Little Chelsea went flying through the air and landed safely in the softness of the mattress and the blankets and the pillows.

"Again!" Chelsea cried out, barely after landing, already crawling up to get into the line behind Katie and William Jr. for the 'Child-Stretching Bridge Ride.'

Until William and Julia were thoroughly exhausted, they played the stretching and flying game. The adults shared a look, faces flushed with the strain of activity. Julia rocked back onto her heels for a moment and pretended to buckle. Delightfully, she giggled. It made William smile.

"Again," William Jr. cried.

"One more," the father of the brood set the limit, "Only one more time each."

Three more times later, the adults insisted it was time to get on with readying for the day ahead.

The children stood still for the first time in such a long time, and felt their hearts pounding, and their breaths rushing, and that luscious dizziness, and they _suddenly felt so short – being this close to the ground…_

Julia leaned out through the bedroom door and called into the hallway for the children's nanny, "We're ready now, Claire-Marie."

The young nanny had become accustomed to the Murdoch family's morning routine. But this morning, as she busied herself with gathering up the children's clothing for the day, as she usually did while she waited for them, and she listened in, being showered by the lovely sounds of the family playing together, she had been caught by her own unexpected happiness, too, at having _the detective back where he belonged_.

Claire-Marie appeared in the doorway, extending her hands towards the children. "Come Little Ones," she said, using their mother's most favorite term of endearment.

William Jr. and Chelsea dashed to her, excited to tell Claire-Marie all about their Daddy being back in his bed.

 _ **But it was going to be a different story, however, when it came to Claire-Marie collecting little Katie Murdoch…**_

Katie had not gone to her beloved nanny. Instead the little girl had clung to her Daddy, jumping and tugging and asking him with every inch of her little body to pick her up. Without thinking, William had lifted his five-year old daughter up into his arms to give her a quick parting kiss. And now, now she hugged him tight – tight, tight, tight, with her little arms clasped around his neck, and her long legs wrapped tight around his waist.

It immediately reminded, both William and Julia, of _how desperately Katie had clung onto William back when they had first met her at the orphanage in Nova Scotia. And, just as it had done then, it pulled at their heartstrings with its sweet sadness, and sorrow, and hope._

With an air of déjà vu, Julia walked close to William, with their fretful child embraced in his arms, and she placed her hand to Katie's back, and she whispered to her husband, "She's not letting go of you."

With confusion on his face, William wondered, "But it wasn't _HER_ I was _not_ sleeping with – it was _YOU_?"

"True," she answered him, "But to one so… delicate," Julia chose the word carefully, "to one who has lost so much in her short life, it must have felt scary," Julia replied. She stroked Katie's hair at the back of the child's head, and tucked closer and added, "You weren't where you are supposed to be…"

"With you?" William asked.

"Yes, with me," Julia answered him, "If I could lose you… then she…" Julia knowingly caught his eye, not daring to say more. There was the subtlest nod as she saw him finish the thought inside his head – " _then she could lose you too…"_

Julia's beautiful blue eyes turned to soak in the bundle of a child clinging to William for dear life. Her voice became even more tender and reassuring, "But Katie," _her Mommy's warm, gentle, breath washed over the child's ear_ , "I was never, never for one second, in danger of losing your Daddy. It was just a fight – we had a bad, bad fight. Like you have sometimes with your sister, or your brother, and someday like you will probably have with me or with your Daddy…"

William tucked his face down closer to Katie, where she had buried her face into his neck, and he tried to lighten, "In my case, I wager, it will be because I won't let you wear some grown-up looking dress or another…"

"Perhaps," Julia nodded, for _William Henry Murdoch did have a history of trying to control the dresses that the women in his life chose to wear – an incident with a particularly revealing, and quite sexy, black dress of hers replayed brightly in her mind… And, oh, how it had been so utterly delightful, really, the way that the look of her in that dress had made William's brain turn 'soupy...'_

William had gone on explaining to the little one, "Your Mommy and I will always, always, love each other. And we'll always, always, love you, and Chelsea, and William Jr. Always," his voice grew quieter and closer, and his motion rocked her as he began to carry her towards the door, "Always, I promise."

When he returned, absent of Katie in his arms, Julia caught his eye. Her look was serious. "You know," she said, "She lost a father, too, William. They… those beautiful little girls, _OUR_ little girls, they lost a father too."

And he remembered _his adamantly desperate plea to her, just last night, down in front of the fireplace, begging her to consider how much it would hurt their children for them to lose her if she were to get caught, and it hit home, for it would hurt them, terribly, to lose HIM too. And the responsibility of parenthood, of fatherhood, weighed down heavy upon him – and with the burden of it, still, he felt overwhelming gratitude for it as well, for them, for all of their children, and for her, and for their lives together, for their wonderful, wonderful lives together._ He stood there, suspended for a moment, being _so very grateful for having so very, very much to live for._

)

Julia stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her little ones ahead of her, hungry and headed for the kitchen with anticipation of devouring Eloise's delicious-smelling breakfast, and she gazed into the living room. Her big blue eyes danced from romantic spot to romantic spot remembering the unfolding of their story, first to _his reclining chair where she had collapsed into tears with complete despair,_ then to the _fireplace mantle where William had battled and grappled with the worst of their demons,_ and then to the couch _, to the couch where their reunion had been re-sealed, where their deep and melding touch had re-entwined them together as they were meant to be._ It seemed… _some of the magic still lingered there._

Their auras mingled as William stepped up behind her. "It was lovely," he said, his voice warm in her ear, the breeze of it wafting a few of her curls at the edges of her face.

She let herself fall back into him, and reached back to cup his face, to travel it, adore it. "Yes," she replied, her voice misty.

He turned her to face him, pushed her back to the molding of the entranceway, the boundary between foyer and living room. Their eyes held. "William," she whispered it, cried it, a hint of tears behind it, for the voyage had been hard and long.

And he kissed her, kissed her in the way that swore his devotion.

Little Katie had turned back, turned back to catch, to see, her parents kissing, kissing big. She would have called her brother, called her sister, if she had not been so mesmerized by the sheer beauty of it.

The kiss breaking off, their faces dallied close, for the couple was stuck in cherishing the flavors of their connection. Julia said to him, "Shall we detective?" the use of his title reminding that there was a workday ahead of them.

"Doctor," he invited her forward, stepping back from where he had pinned her to the frame of the living room entranceway. He opened an arm towards the kitchen, and all the while his gorgeous brown eyes danced with hers, for he was reluctant to part from her. William's hand slipped into the small of her back, and she cuddled into him as they moved together down the hallway.

They caught sight of Katie watching them.

"Well, Little One," Julia called to her, "You are waiting for us?"

"Yes Mommy," Katie replied and then turned to skip cheerfully ahead of them into the kitchen.

William leaned close to Julia and said, "She seems quite happy."

"Indeed," Julia smiled.

)

The moment that the couple stepped, arm-in-arm, into the kitchen, from the corner of his eye, William detected the curl of a smile on the housekeeper's face, confirming, not just that Eloise had observed himself and Julia together on the couch this morning, but also that she was pleased at their reconciliation. _He would make it official,_ he thought, giving Julia quick kiss before letting go of her.

The Murdoch children were already seated at the table. Their parents, too, took their seats as they greeted Eloise, and admired her well-prepared breakfast.

Straightaway, Julia noticed that William's eyes had dropped down onto the newspaper Eloise had left for him at his place at the table. Before he even lifted it, William reached up to rub his brow. _Eloise had left it upside-down, hiding the top headline from view. That was not a good sign…_

"How bad can it be?" Julia tried to cheer from across the table.

He blew out the building pressure through his pursed lips and gave her a glance.

Emotions flooded through Julia. In an effort to handle the overflow, Julia endeavored to name them, " _Worry. Guilt. Hope. Love…"_ She stuck there for a moment, on that last one, realizing that she _absolutely loved him_ , and with that awareness so stark, _she found another emotion surging and swirling inside of her – FURY! Yes, it was undeniable, she hankered to wring that Miss Cherry's neck, if ever she were given the chance…_

A frown appeared on William's face. _It was NOT unexpected_.

" **Detective's Bald-Faced Lie – "Evidence" Warrants Beau Jangles' Release,"** William read the frontpage headline out loud.

Julia watched, uninterested in eating, as he silently read the first two paragraphs, his dark eyes gliding across the words. She wondered, waited for him to tell, _did Miss Cherry quote her? Name her…?_

 _ **Basically, Miss Cherry's story claimed that, based on his own wife's words, Detective Murdoch would be lying to reporters about his reasons for setting the 'Negro-Killer,' Mr. Beau Jangles, free. This claim centered around the juxtaposition of the detective's original statements that the evidence incriminated Mr. Beau Jangles, most specifically the evidence of multiple eyewitness reports that the older Negro man had been seen pursuing the victim with a baseball bat on the night of the murder, and Dr. Ogden's current tirade which told that Detective Murdoch now claimed there was evidence to the contrary. In the article Miss Cherry reasoned, quite unsoundly, that since the detective himself had claimed the evidence pointed to Mr. Beau Jangles being the killer, it was a lie to now claim that the evidence did not do so.**_

 _ **The alleged "real reason" that Detective Murdoch had set the 'Negro-Killer' free was said to be because the detective was actually a 'nansy-pansy Negro-lover, a Negrophile,' in Miss Cherry's words. The story would go on to cite evidence to this fact from Murdoch's history of setting certain other colored-killers free, despite the case that those cited were clearly proven to be innocent of the charges against them. The crux of this argument, that Murdoch consistently pursued the innocence of multiple undeserving Negros in the past, began with the detective's insistence that a Negress by the name of Fannie Robinson was not her husband's killer, despite the fact that the Negress was found at the scene with her shot-dead husband's blood all over her dress. This was followed by the claim that 'Murdoch went after innocent white dock workers for the killing of a Negro jubilee bandleader, Nathan Peters, when it was obvious, just as it is in this current situation involving Mr. Beau Jangles, that the Negro Peters had been killed by one of his own.' Further, Detective Murdoch was argued to be 'Color Blinded,' as it were, when he refused to charge a Negro man, Isaac Lowry, for stabbing the white hero Frank Parker, even though the Chief Constable at the time had had Lowry arrested because of the blatant evidence of Lowry's guilt found at the scene of the crime, namely a knife wound on the colored man's hand. Miss Cherry muddied the waters even further by insinuating that Detective Murdoch had been known to set killers free before, citing as her evidence 'rumors' that Detective Murdoch had 'intentionally' left the murderess Constance Gardiner in an unlocked cell so that she could escape.**_

With a sigh, William figured he _had gotten the gist, and that he would read it more specifically later, to be prepared for the reporters' questions that were sure to come. For now, he wanted to focus on other things, more pleasant things._ He put the paper down, then glanced over to Julia. "Miss Cherry seeks to goad me into either revealing my evidence or re-arresting Mr. Beau Jangles. I will be doing neither," he said, wisely.

As if they were sharing a secret, Julia leaned across the table to him. "That will most surly rile her," she gleed, grateful for anything that could bring a sting to the annoying woman.

William's frown closed the subject between them for now.

Talk turned to William Jr.'s starting school in just two days. Plans were set to delve deeper into teaching all three of the children both reading and writing. Claire-Marie would even begin today, it was decided. Turning the page of the newspaper to a story that did NOT center around their parents, William figured there was no better time than the present. They would start with some of the easier words in the headlines…

It was a great idea, and Julia joined in too. It was in the midst of all this, that out of the blue, while Julia held the newspaper, and she was pointing to each of the letters in the word 'fire,' that she felt it, or perhaps just caught it out of the corner of her eye – William was looking at her from across the table. She gasped with the discovery and turned to him.

He did not avert his eyes.

He held to them instead, _long enough for a breath_ , and then he dropped away with a shrug.

And she saw it there, she saw it then, _the softest blush on his face._

And her insides swirled and melted and gushed, _so surprised, so surprised, at the butterflies this man could still flutter inside of her._

Later, the meal nearly finished, Julia imagined _reminding him she would be late tonight because of her University class, and she felt an instant twinge of fear at breaching the subject with him._ She recognized the cause of her apprehension immediately, for her teaching her class brought with it what so terribly worried William, her risking being caught breaking the law. Courage not something Julia Ogden lacked, she took _her reaction as a reason she needed to do exactly that, to bring up the subject of her teaching with him, of her teaching her students, and all that that entailed._ She noticed, however, as she heard herself speaking into the warm kitchen air, that _her trepidation was detectable in her voice._

"William," she started, "I, um, I have my class tonight..." she paused, caught his sideways glance, swallowed at his concern, "I'll be late..." she watched as the man she loved more than life itself pursed his lips and blew out the pressure erupting inside of him. "A reminder is all," she said, her voice low, her lips pinched into an 'admitting it' gesture, registering her regret.

William reached up and rubbed at his brow…

" _Not alright! It was not alright!"_ the alarm rang inside of Julia's head.

Over at the kitchen counter, Eloise, who was keenly attuned to Dr. Ogden from having worked for the doctor since before the woman had even moved to Buffalo, noticed with concern that her mistress was holding her breath.

Julia reached her hand across the table towards William and softly tapped her fingers on the table near him, to draw his beautiful eyes to hers. "A word?" she asked, pushing her chair back, readying to stand.

He nodded, stood with her to be led out of the kitchen.

Wise, kind, Eloise stepped in to draw the children's attention. "Master Murdoch," she distracted, "sweetest Katie and Chelsea, darlings, I just remembered… I have your favorite," she tempted, "Apple butter! Would you like some on your toast...?"

In the hallway, Julia reached up to touch William's face, seeking the closeness, the intimacy, they had so recently recovered between them. A deep breath, she said, "I will tell them… my students, I will tell them that they will likely someday, like me, have a family, a family that they love so much that it makes their lives worth living more so than anything else they ever could have imagined, and that then, then, they will understand that you have to make some choices, some that wrench what you value most, but still you must. I will tell them, William, that I will continue to teach them what they need to know to be the best surgeons, the best doctors, that they can possibly be…" she hesitated, inside of herself discovering _how much she would compromise, how much she would give up, and how much she would not_. So slightly she shook her head, a decision made, a line drawn. She took another deep breath. She summoned her deepest courage, for the sacrifice was great – _she would never_ fully _show them, she would never_ fully _tell them, but she would provide enough for them for the illegal to be learnable,_ and her resolve in making that sacrifice, on each side, was unshakeable. Digging down for strength, she swallowed to send away the squeakiness that she sensed squeezing in her throat, and she made her intentions clear, "So that my students will be doctors, doctors who know _EVERYTHING_ we know within our profession, despite the laws of our oppressive and backwards times, to use to help their patients as fully as they can, as they each see fit… But also, that there will be some things that _I CANNOT KNOW THAT THEY KNOW_ …" her eyes held so strongly to his, sincerity, integrity, promised between them, "that there may be some things that _I CANNOT KNOW THAT THEY DO_." She breathed deeper, having reached her conclusion. "They will understand my meaning, William," she reassured. Breathless, waiting… _Almost, almost_ , she said to him, " _Please..."_

But William breathed…

" _He breathed!" Such relief, for he had accepted what she could give him_ , and her body answered him with a big breath of her own, and then a smile and then a kiss. Once again, she marveled at their love, at how much she loved him… at how much he loved her.

Back to the table, hand in hand, they both looked to their little ones. William Jr.'s eyes, Katie's eyes, little Chelsea's eyes, were wide on them. Such young children, sitting there helpless, alert, waiting, waiting to see if their world was crumbling all over again, waiting to see if the joy from this morning could not be trusted.

Before sitting, Julia's heartstrings pulled, she went to her youngest daughter and lifted her into her arms. Shall you sit with me for the rest?" she suggested, placing Chelsea in her lap and bringing her plate next to hers.

Chelsea's mother's lips tingled close to the child's ear, leaning down to tickle the mixing of their curls at her cheek.

Julia glanced, checking her son, checking her oldest daughter. _They were not looking, not looking directly, instead pretending only to finish the last bites of their apple-buttered toast, but they were listening_. _They would hear._ "Do not fret, Little One," she reassured, "Your Daddy and I are fixing it. It's like when you bring us a broken toy, hmm? And we fix it. But then we have to test it out, don't we...? To see if it's really fixed, hmm?"

The little girl felt her mother's lips kiss softly at her ear.

Julia looked into William's eyes.

"Not too little," he said to her, unclear if it was a question or an acknowledgment that she had explained it right.

"Not too little," she answered with certainty, warmly tucking her, _their_ , sweet, sweet little child into a hug. "Not too little," she repeated, this time her words cloaking Chelsea with her motherly love, following it with another kiss.

 _It could be trusted! It could be trusted,_ all three young hearts flared. _That wonderful magnificent joy – it was true!_

Immediately, Chelsea's little-girl body went into a happy bouncing and she, too, returned to her yummy apple-buttered toast.

And all was well in the world.

)

The bustle of Stationhouse #4 was lively this Monday morning. The important case of the killing of a Negro minstrel performer, Ernie Williams, had splashed the headlines for days. There was pressure from above to solve this case. There was pressure from above to re-arrest the Negro suspect, an older minstrel performer himself, and dance partner to the victim, Mr. Beau Jangles. However, the powers that be at Stationhouse # 4 were staunchly opposed to yielding to these pressures. For years now, Inspector Brackenreid had accepted that his star detective moved ' _slow as molasses_ ,' and besides, he, himself, _would not be holding an innocent man in his cells, no matter the color of the man's skin._ Still, Thomas Brackenreid _worried that the truth of his own personal connections with Negroes, namely that he had loved a Negress in the past, and that he had fathered a Negro child with her, would only bring his world undue trouble if they were discovered by the press_. Thus, the Inspector felt uneasy at having reporters, like that annoying Miss Cherry, snooping around.

The good news was that many interviews had been set up for today – interviews with other potential suspects as well as numerous potential witnesses. Detective Murdoch figured the most likely suspects would be Negros. This was not because the detective had predetermined ideas about the race of a man influencing the likelihood of his guilt, but rather because multiple witnesses had seen an older _**Negro**_ man setting off to cause harm to the victim the night of the killing. As such, interviews of the Negro performers and other Negro workers from ' _Mr. Weist's Minstrel Jubilee_ ' would be conducted by Detective Murdoch, himself. Detective Watts would be conducting the other interviews, including the interview with the minstrel show's owner, Mr. Weist, and its manager, Mr. Toddy.

Detective Murdoch held two pieces of evidence close to his chest. The first was that the killer had left shoeprints in the coal dust behind the Tipsy Ferret where he burned Ernie Williams' body – and those shoeprints were of a particular size of men's shoe, and more importantly, they lacked the wooden 'taps' that were on the soles of Mr. Beau Jangles' shoes. The second piece of, as-of-yet undisclosed, evidence involved the whiskey bottle found in the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret with Mr. Beau Jangles' unconscious body that night. It was a high-end brand of whiskey, it had been laced with laudanum, which was also found in Mr. Beau Jangles' bloodstream, and it had a second set of fingermarks on it.

Murdoch reminded himself to pay particular attention to female suspects. This was because, despite the fact that the shoeprints pointed to a male killer, Mr. Beau Jangles had seemed to believe the killer to be a woman.

)

By midday multiple interviews had been conducted. The two detectives paused the interviews to meet and discuss their progress thus far with the Inspector.

One of the men who Detective Watts had interviewed was the minstrel show manager, Mr. Toddy. Watts' read on the man was that Mr. Toddy was, "loyal to his employer, almost smitten, in some ways, with the big boss. Toddy went so far as to say he aspired to be 'just like Mr. Weist someday,' as he sees Mr. Weist as a man moving up the ladder quickly." The detective scratched at his brow, thinking he _should elaborate on his meaning_. "A major feather in Weist's cap is his daughter's betrothal to a Mr. King – the same Mr. King who serves currently as the Deputy Ministry of Labor, and who was recently awarded a fifth degree, a PhD from Harvard this last one…"

Murdoch lifted an eyebrow, _deep inside always regretting his own lack of, even one, University degree…_

Brackenreid steamed, "A hoity-toity toff then?"

Detective Watts went on, adding what he himself considered to be a major chink in the fancy Mr. King's armor, "The award was for a dissertation paper King wrote admonishing the further immigration of Asians into Canada with the hopes of keeping our beloved country, as Mr. Toddy put it, ' _PROPERLY WHITE…_ '"

Murdoch's mind, the Inspector's mind, rushed to an old case that Watts could never have even guessed at – _Murdoch defending an old Chinaman grandfather against charges he had killed a Stationhouse #5 policeman._ It had been a rather influential case in both of their histories, for _Murdoch had held steadfast to finding the truth, despite the prejudices of the those in power above them, and in the end it had turned out that it was one of their own – a policeman, who had done the unthinkable, who had raped the Chinaman's granddaughter, and killed a fellow copper who had discovered his crime and could not condone it, and then framed the old man of the oppressed race for the despicable crime he had committed. There was a familiar ring, it seemed, to this case with Mr. Beau Jangles…_

Llewelyn Watts had not noticed the other two men's retreat into their memories and inner-associations. He had gone on, "If you ask me, I'd tell you that the young, aspirational Mr. Toddy seemed sweet on the daughter himself, but he is too much in need of the approval of her father to ever risk expressing such sentiments for fear of being dismissed as 'not good enough.'" Moving back to the specifics of the murder, Watts considered, "As to any reason to kill Mr. Williams, it appears Toddy and Williams got on well, though I had the impression Mr. Toddy expected Negros to behave much as they are portrayed in blackface on the stage…" Watts decided to be blunt, adding the descriptors, "… dumb and lazy." The detective considered the victim for a moment and added, "I suspect if we were able to ask Mr. Williams' opinion of his Mr. Toddy, that positive view would not have been reciprocated."

The Inspector turned to Murdoch.

"None of the Negro minstrels I've interviewed thus far seem to have any motive to kill Mr. Williams," Murdoch reported. "Although every single one of them said that Mr. Williams had been a lady's man. And many suggested that that had changed recently, some even saying that this change was due to Mr. Williams falling in love with a _**particular**_ woman…" Murdoch hesitated before he added, "Some say she was a _**white**_ woman…"

Watts interrupted, "Weist's manager insinuated that _**MRS.**_ Weist may have been…" Llewelyn paused to remember the word, "… ' _ **interested**_ ,' is how Mr. Toddy put it, in the young, attractive Negro performer. The band conductor voiced the same suspicion."

"Now that might put a bug up her husband's arse, I'd think," Brackenreid inserted.

Murdoch corrected, "If it was true, sir. And if Mr. Weist was aware of it."

Watts had more. "The band conductor said that there was quite a bit of 'note-sending' done by both MRS. Weist AND our victim, Mr. Williams… And that they used the _**same street boy**_ as the messenger. May I suggest we find this boy."

"Yes," Murdoch agreed quickly. "Constable Marks knows many of the street boys quite well. Have him look into it, Watts."

Watts nodded.

The men were quiet for a moment.

 _Thinking that things might have changed in light of the new lines of inquiry_ , Watts spoke up. "I've yet to interview Mr. Weist – it's set for later this afternoon. Would you like to conduct that interview, detective?" he asked Murdoch.

"No. No, I've plenty more all afternoon," Murdoch answered. "I had Higgins go fetch two more people of interest – both of whom are Negro women who are said to have been jilted by the victim. One in particular seems intriguing – plays both the fiddle and the bones, I'm told…"

"Bones!" Brackenreid bellowed, "A woman who plays bloody bones. Now I've heard everything."

"There was talk of voodoo, sir," William subtly cringed. Memories had inundated, _of the falsely presumed dead mulatto, Timothy Beaton – and his death mask – and his secret love affair with his white brother's wife – and his Haitian cousins and nieces and an uncle who was also been his grandfather – and their voodoo zombies and ghosts._ The memories _had sent a chill up his spine_ , particularly because William's rapid mind had fired down two other alternative memory pathways at the same time as this one, and the mixing of these memories was deeply disturbing. One trail had led to the lovely memory of _himself putting the latex rubber mask he had made to demonstrate how the suspect had fabricated the ghost of Beaton Manner up to his face, and Julia painting his lips red, her touches so sweet through the thin rubber of the mask._ A very different trail of association had brought him to a memory that was much darker, this one of _his regaining consciousness to James Gillies' latex mask of Julia's face, dangling up high on a manakin propped up on the outside of his cage, when he had been trapped…_

Watts stepped forward, the gesture pulling William out of his troubled thoughts and changing the subject. "Another avenue to consider in all of this is that of the frame you suspect here, detective," he said, looking to Murdoch. Pondering the idea further, Detective Watts asked, "Who would have wanted to, and had means to, frame Mr. Beau Jangles as the killer?"

Murdoch tilted his head to the side, as if looking at the case from a whole new angle. He wrinkled his face doubtfully and replied, "It appears that Mr. Beau Jangles was revered and adored by all of the Negros involved in the minstrel show." There was a quick lifting of his hand to scratch his brow. "Nearly all of them agreed that they would have been willing to stand with Mr. Jangles in demanding fairer wages and in insisting that Negro performers no longer be required to wear blackface makeup," he added, pinching his lips together with accepting that this might be enough to suggest that none of the Negros from the troupe could be the killer.

"That could be another strike against Mr. Weist," Brackenreid reasoned.

Watts nodded in agreement.

This prompted William rub more vigorously at his brow.

Brackenreid felt his patience begin to simmer at Murdoch's resistance. " _Slow as molasses_ ," he heard himself say in an effort to quell his building irritation.

Murdoch would explain. "Yes, that may give Mr. Weist reason to frame Beau Jangles, but it does quite the opposite to the man's motive to kill Ernie Williams…"

 _The other two men shared that familiar look that came with the feeling of having been left in the dust, once again, by Murdoch._

William cleared his throat and said, "Let me explain. Mr. Beau Jangles' convincing the Negro performers to stand up for their rights against the owner of the show _**would**_ provide motive for Mr. Weist to _**frame**_ Beau Jangles, but…" Murdoch held up his hand and closed it into a fist, as he often did when he grasped something important. "But it was Ernie Williams who was the Negro who crossed the line to accept Mr. Weist's conditions. Once Mr. Williams did that, all talk of the Negro troupe members rallying together against Mr. Weist ceased. You see, the _**last**_ man Mr. Weist would want to _**kill**_ was Mr. Williams." William took a breath and then added, "As a matter of fact, that's exactly what Mr. Beau Jangles and the victim fought about prior to the night of the killing, making this betrayal of Mr. Beau Jangles by Mr. Williams the alleged motive for the murder in the first place. According to all reports, and even Beau Jangles himself, he was none too happy with his partner for being the one to give in to the big boss' demands. That is why all those eye-witnesses saying that they heard the Negro man with the baseball bat ranting about how angry he was at Mr. Williams for turning on him, specifically about performing in blackface, were so incriminating." William frowned. Then he added, "But, as you know, we can be fairly certain that Mr. Beau Jangles is not the killer."

"So where are we then?!" Brackenreid complained, his frustration unconsciously taking him to his scotch decanter.

Unsaid, the detectives' uneasy faces answered him – _nowhere yet._

"Murdoch…!"

The Inspector's tone prompted William to stand up straighter for his anticipated dressing-down. His big, brown eyes glassed over as he fixed on a point at which to focus somewhere off in the distance, _low… somewhere low_.

"I want this case solved yesterday!" Brackenreid barked. "And where is Crabtree?!" he suddenly remembered Murdoch's not only releasing the press' ideal suspect Saturday night, but also costing the Constabulary their best constable in the process. "Shouldn't he have reported in by now?" the Inspector grumbled.

"He should," Murdoch admitted.

Even louder, the Inspector yelled, "Well bloody go and check on him!"

"Yes sir," Murdoch said. _Unsure as to whether or not his reprimand was complete_ , William waivered with _indecision about whether or not to leave…_

"Today Murdoch!" the Inspector barked.

"Yes sir," William rushed for the door.

Watts, in his odd way, faced left, then right, then kicked his leg one way, and then swung it about to change his direction again the other way, and saying nothing, followed Detective Murdoch out.

Eyes behind their heads, both detectives saw in their minds _Brackenreid chug down the entire glass of scotch, and then, shaking his head at them, pour himself another one…_

"Bollocks!" both Murdoch and Watts heard, and everyone else in the bullpen heard, the Inspector swear.

By the time William had his homburg in hand, Constable Crabtree, still dressed in his raggedy plainclothes for his undercover role as a man who was down on his luck _,_ rushed – _wobbly_ , into the bullpen. One look at the younger man's face told the reason for his unsteady movements – George Crabtree had had quite a beating. Much of his face was swollen, he had a split lip, and two black eyes graced each side of his discolored nose…

William found himself thinking the constable _looked much like William Jr. did after he had faced down the three bullies who were throwing rocks at a bird's nest… Well, even a bit worse, actually…_

"Sirs!" George called to them as he approached.

Both detectives quickly turned to peer into the Inspector's office, wondering if the Inspector had seen Crabtree's arrival yet – _he had_.

"Crabtree!" the Inspector hurried to join them, "What train ran over you?"

 _ **George would use the opportunity for humor – thinking to align the outstandingly huge man who had beaten him up so badly to the Inspector's notion of a 'train…'**_

Crabtree twisted his mouth in that funny way that only he could, and he replied, "A train that's a pool-shootin' son-of-gun called 'Jim,' sir. He's big and dumb as a man can come… Even stronger than a country horse…"

Watts joked, "That explains a few things."

George would explain further, "This Jim, err, he's the boss of all these ruffians at Papa's Poolroom…" Then George looked to Murdoch and added, "One of our Mr. Beau Jangles' favorite haunts, it turns out, sir." _Still reeling from his beating last night, George was slow to notice the sudden worry on Murdoch's face…_

"George!" Murdoch held his breath as he rushed the question, "Where is Mr. Beau Jangles?!"

 _Oh, how the constable's face blanched with the question…_

"Sir! Err, uh… Sirs. I, uh…" George's eyes shot back and forth between his three superiors, hoping beyond hope to find compassion in at least one of the sets of eyes.

"George…?" Murdoch's eyebrow raised, as did his concern.

George's nausea erupted, causing him to buckle momentarily, shooting his hand to cover his mouth in an effort to push the disgusting surge back down into his stomach. " _Oh yes,"_ he remembered, " _not just a beating – way too much whiskey…"_

"Crabtree!" the Inspector's bellow seemed to pull George out of the wave, "Beau Jangles!"

Utter regret covered the constable's face as he answered, "I'm afraid he duped me sirs. He, err… He's gone."

 _Now it was William who felt sick_ … "Gone George?" his expression begged for it not to be true.

Somehow it was a surprise when the Inspector said calmly, "Just tell us what happened, Crabtree."

George took a deep breath. "I suffered these injuries last night, out behind Papa's Poolroom, at the hands of this 'Jim' character I was telling you about…"

"Is Mr. Beau Jangles alright?" William worried.

"As far as I know, sirs… I was undercover as Jack, a friend of Beau's from the cells here, as we had planned. I believe I was quite convincing…" George already drifted from the point, considering _his fine acting skills._

William huffed, and George stiffened and then got back on track. "Well, while Mr. Beau Jangles danced, and he drank quite a bit… You see, being finally out free again, and all. And I… well, I wanted to look real, sirs. Like a real tough guy, and so I pretended…err, I pretended I knew how to play at their billiards tables. You see, I thought I'd keep an eye on Beau Jangles, keep him safe, sirs… better, err, if they all believed me to be another like them – a fellow hooligan…" George shook his head remembering. He blew out some of the associated pressure. Then he went on, explaining, "There were lots of threats… lots." George's eyes grew big, stressing the point. "As I'm sure you all can imagine, quite a few folks were none too happy to see a Negro man released from the cells." He swallowed, and then added, "But, I also thought I could help with the case… uh, as you know, Papa's Poolroom is where the witnesses reported seeing Mr. Beau Jangles with the baseball bat on the night Ernie Williams was killed. And it turns out Beau Jangles goes to Papa's nearly every night – well, err, he _**had**_ gone to Papa's nearly every night, that is up until he had had his big falling out with Mr. Weist. You see, sirs, it seems Mr. Weist is a sort of the head boss of the lowlife louts at Papa's," Crabtree whispered the aside. "Well, I thought it would be… informative, if we went back there," he told, adding, "Even though Mr. Beau Jangles didn't like the idea much. You know, so I could maybe question some of Papa's patrons… about that night."

Bothered by getting away from whatever had happened with Beau Jangles escaping from George, but also unable to control his own intrigue with solving the case, William pushed, "Did you discover anything pertinent to the case George?" hearing himself, William frowned. _He had come off as impatient._

George leaned closer and said, "I found out that Big Boss Weist has a scam going on there, at those billiards tables. They call it a 'hustle,' sirs. I should've known when that big 'Jim' pulled out his two-piece, custom-made pool cue. See, big Jim Walker _**works for**_ Mr. Weist. And some of the other men, sirs… They had this weird way of warning me. Um, they said…" George shook his head at himself remembering it, "over and over again, ' _ **ya don't tug an emperor's cape. Ya don't spit into the wind. Ya don't pull the mask off that old bank-robber. And ya don't mess around with Jim.**_ ' It was quite troubling, sirs. The way they whispered it over and over again," George shivered at the memory of it.

"Crabtree!" the Inspector barked for him to get back to the point.

"Yes. Yes, of course, sirs," George's speech rushed forward, "Well, I suppose they were right to warn me, because this thug Jim took all my money… and even Beau's money, I think, all the money that the old man earned dancing that night, and big Jim lied, because I didn't lose that much, I'm sure I never would have wagered that much…" George looked into Murdoch's face. _He needed to explain_ , so he added, "I uh… I, um… Well in order to look the part, it turns out I had to drink quite a lot."

"You were drunk, George?" William asked, disappointed.

George rubbed at his brow and apologized, "I uh, I guess I was. But Jim changed the rules, anyway, in the middle of the game. One time you had to tell where you were aiming to put the other ball – uh, the one that wasn't white… the ones with the colors, or was the ones with the stripes…"

William remembered _playing billiards himself the other night at Julia's fancy dinner party_. Exasperated, he exhaled roughly, for _George was clearly very inept at playing the game…_ He interrupted the overly-detailed story, "What happened, George?"

"Well sir, I drew the line when big Jim said that, since I was out of money, my 'Negro, troublemaker friend' would have to pay my debt. And, well, I stepped between this big 'Jim' and poor old Mr. Beau Jangles, cause it seemed this big Jim was just looking for an excuse to beat innocent Mr. Beau Jangles to a pulp, and it seemed to me he was using me as that excuse, and well, the next thing I knew we were out behind the poolroom in a big brawl, me and old Beau Jangles, trying to hold our own against this… this BEAST, sirs."

"And…" the Inspector pushed.

"And, well, err, uh…" Crabtree waived his hand to emphasize his bruised and battered face and said, "Well, when I woke up in Mr. Beau Jangles' room… he was gone sirs," George looked into William's face and wrinkled his mouth and said, "I'm so sorry, sir. I truly am."

After a breath, William eased, "It's alright George…"

Watts asked, "Any clues as to where he might have been headed?"

George wrinkled his mouth even deeper, regret flooding through him. He looked back to Detective Murdoch. "He left this," George said, pulling a crumpled note out of his pocket and handing it to Murdoch.

Tucked inside of the note, William could feel there was something there. He unfolded it to find a wood-carving of a bird with its wings spread out in flight. He took a deep breath as memories of _Mr. Beau Jangles telling him about the poem the old Negro had been so enamored with, "by Dunbar,"_ William remembered, " _about a caged bird that sings…"_ A deep feeling of those profoundly opposing emotions spun inside of his chest – _despair and hope._ To push them aside, William turned his attention to the note.

At first, William was surprised to find that Mr. Beau Jangles seemed to be barely literate, based on the unexpected extremely poor writing he found scribbled on the paper. These poor skills seemed to contradict his experiences of the wise talks he had had with the older man. But then William considered the fact that _Mr. Beau Jangles had been a slave as a boy,_ and then he remembered that _Miss James had had to teach her beau, Nate Desmond, to read and to write…_ And then William wondered to himself, " _If it was not more surprising that a man who had lived a life as hard as had Mr. Beau Jangles ever learned to read or write at all…"_

William read the short note aloud. He found he stuttered though it, struggling to determine the intended meaning of many of the words while he read…

" **Sawry Jak. Tel the detectiv sawry two. Giv him the bird."**

George felt his heart aching. "He was apologizing, sir…" George stated the obvious. "I think he left that in the hopes that we'd understand."

The two men held their look, and an exchange happened between them, _hurt, hurt and a deep knowing of the goodness in the other._

"I think you're right George," William gave, wrinkling the corner of his mouth.

"Well the press is going to have a heyday with this, that's for sure," the Inspector brought the harshness of the situation back to the forefront.

"Yes, I suppose you're right, Inspector," George answered him. "I'm sorry sir."

"Yes, you said that Crabtree," the Inspector huffed. "Murdoch," he turned to his best man, "You'd best solve this one quick-like."

"Yes sir," William replied. _He would need to call Julia. It was going to be a long night._ William folded the wooden bird back into Mr. Beau Jangles' note and tucked into his inside jacket pocket. Somehow, he felt a shifting inside of him, a lighting, a fuse touched, a spark to a deep, internal fire. _Mr. Beau Jangles deserved justice – as did Mr. Ernie Williams._ William Henry Murdoch suddenly had a fire in the belly. _He would uncover the truth. He was certain that he would._

)

At his desk, after interviewing the extremely spooky 'bones playing' and 'voodoo-spell casting" lady who calls herself 'Dame Clara,' William organized the case in his mind. Dame Clara appeared to be his best suspect. " _She had motive, and she seems to be more than emotionally capable of murder,_ " William thought. _Certainly, she had admitted, and demonstrated, that she was furious at the 'dashing' Ernie Williams for dropping her for a "younger white woman." But, neither Dame Clara, nor any of the other witnesses for that matter, had been able, or willing, to say anything more about this 'younger white woman'…_ William subconsciously rubbed vigorously at his forehead. He pushed himself to keep trying. A big sigh, and he thought, " _Some said they suspected the victim had been having an affair with Weist's wife – but from their descriptions, MRS. Weist is FAR from being a 'younger' woman…"_ William frowned, recognizing his arrival at a dead-end.

William reminded himself that _Mrs. Weist's interview was not until tomorrow…_

His hand rubbed hard into his brow – for he had re-felt that troubling niggle. " _Could a woman have done all of this? Could a woman have hit Mr. Williams' hard enough with something like a baseball bat to kill him, and then hidden his, rather sturdy, body behind the garbage pails, and then be strong enough to move it later – to the Tipsy Ferret's coal-chute – "And the shoeprints are all wrong!"_ his head hurt. Then he considered an even more problematic issue, _"And could it have been a woman, all along, who was pretending to be Mr. Beau Jangles with the baseball bat…?_

And suddenly, William re-saw in his mind, _his beautiful wife, beautiful, beautiful Julia, dressed as his solicitor and sneaking to him down in the cells._ A smile grew on his face, for another memory had shot forward, this one of _his own utter shock at discovering that the man who had just asked him for a light was, "Julia…!_ he remembered gasping her name. _George's reaction_ … William shook his head in disbelief at the memory, _George said she looked like a 'pretty man…'_

Thinking of her, he instantly felt better, and then William remembered that _he had intended to send her flowers. It was rather late now_ , he thought, _he would need to have them sent to the University. The woman at the flower shop knew him well. She would help him._ He picked up the phone and dialed. " _Just one – a yellow rose. No. No. Better would be TWO yellow roses. A pair – entwined together! Yes. And then, somehow, the children. Oh…of course, 'Baby's Breath.'"_ That decided, William considered _, "Shall I try a poem…"_ he thought as the woman at the flower shop answered the phone.

 _ **Perhaps William Murdoch had been inspired by Mr. Beau Jangles' wooden bird, with its hints at Dunbar's poetry…?**_

The woman at the flower shop wrote out the card for him. She absolutely _adored this strait-laced detective who was head-over-heels in love with his wife._ Unbeknownst to the man, she gobbled up any and all newspaper stories about the couple. She had even secretly joined the "Murdoch Appreciation Society." _Oh, she knew that many of his poems were childlike and sentimental, but truly, truly, she wished with all her heart that her own husband would ever do such a thing for her, FEEL such things for her – and if he could do them, feel them, while being as handsome as the detective… Mmm, just imagine…_

William's card said,

 _To my wife, my lover, my friend, my colleague, my partner in crime, my companion in life, the mother of my children,_

 _You are the tune to my words, that make my song._

 _The wind puffing my sail, moving my voyage along._

 _You are the waves that power my tides._

 _And the dimensions that increase my sides._

 _You are my introspection and my expansion,_

 _For me, Julia Ogden, you have always been the ONE._

 _And I love you, with every atom, and every spark, and every drop of my body, with my deepest heart and my only soul._

 _And so, I signal this all_

 _with something simple,_

 _and beautiful,_

 _and small._

 _I give to you this one symbol of our love, enduring, and lasting, and ethereal,_

 _I give to you, us… Us, as a rose intertwined with a rose._

 _And with them, let us linger in every blossoming nuance, let us, together, rekindle._

)

It was not until quite late that evening that Detective Watts and Detective Murdoch sat together in Murdoch's office mulling over the new and the old in the case. Watts' interview with Mr. Weist had ended up providing the man with an alibi. It seems that Mr. Weist was at Papa's Poolroom all night on the night of the murder. His alibi included the time of the public display involving the Negro man wielding the baseball bat outside of Papa's Poolroom, and also when Mr. William's was figured to have been killed and his body hidden behind the garbage pails, up until the closing time of Papa's Poolroom, quite late into the night. Multiple witnesses corroborated Mr. Weist's claim that he was inside Papa's all of that time.

Watts reported that "Weist himself said he, 'heard the ruckus from the privy.'" Then Watts went on to explain that when he pushed Mr. Weist to explain his being in the poolroom's tiny, stinky, back bathroom for so long, "Weist reluctantly admitted that he went in there 'to hide out from Mr. Beau Jangles,' claiming that it was because he was, ' **scared that the** **madman had** **come for him** , so he stayed out of sight for safety's sake." Watts added, "Weist claimed that he and Beau Jangles did not see eye-to-eye ever since Mr. Beau Jangles had quit over wearing the blackface."

According to Watts, the bartender, as well as Mr. Toddy, and even this big Jim Walker thug that Crabtree had told them about, all said that they saw Mr. Weist in the poolroom **before** the man with the baseball bat made his threats outside, as well as late into the night that night. All of them claim that Mr. Weist was at Papa's that night until closing.

The two detectives agreed that this information appeared to put Mr. Weist in the clear.

"So," Murdoch forced himself to swallow down the disappointment and move on, "Our best suspect appears to be Dame Clara, then." He rubbed at his brow and sighed.

Not yet willing to let go of Weist as the main suspect, Watts suggested, "Perhaps Weist payed men to do all of these different things for him. He's wealthy enough…"

"And he yields power over these men," William agreed. He thought it through further. "Weist could have hired a Negro to make the scene outside of Papa's…"

Watts added, "And to handle drugging Mr. Beau Jangles… and get the old man to the scene in the middle of the night… as he was. Even to do the killing. And, later, moving and burning the body…"

"But why drag it out like that?" William interrupted. "Why not just kill Ernie Williams and burn the body then?" he puzzled it out aloud.

"It had to be timed," Watts reasoned, "Timed with whenever it was that they could get Mr. Beau Jangles drugged and to the scene…?

"Perhaps," William wrinkled his face considering it.

The men paused there. _It would be hard to prove – hard to discover what could likely be a conspiracy to kill Mr. William's and frame Mr. Beau Jangles at the request of Mr. Weist…_

 _William chased after the problems even further, thinking, "There would have to have been a Negro in the bunch as well, to imitate Mr. Beau Jangles with the baseball bat…"_

"And what of your voodoo lady?" Watts turned the focus to their other avenue of inquiry.

"Dame Clara," William said. He rubbed at his brow.

Watts had come to grasp the meaning behind Murdoch's ' _tell._ ' His good nature urged him to help. "Does the woman have motive, means, and opportunity, as it were?" he asked.

William nodded and looked the other detective in the eye. "Plenty of motive," he gave. Elaborating he explained, "Dame Clara was a woman scorned, and the dig seems to be that the woman Ernie Williams preferred over her was not only younger, but white, as the rumors had suggested. "She would also have had opportunity. But means…?" Murdoch's face twisted with doubting it.

A knock at the door, both detectives shared a look – _it was quite late._

It was George. He had cleaned up and donned his constable's uniform.

"Good to have you back," Watts greeted.

"What have you, George?" William felt grateful for the return of the familiar.

George stepped in and placed a hand down on the detective's desk. He shared his glances back and forth between the two detectives. "Constable Marks phoned in, sirs…"

"Did he find the street boy?" Watts' tone had a sense of cheer.

"He did, sirs," a tiny smile, for having the good news, curled on George's face. To stress his point, George tapped his fingers on the desk right in front of William's statue of the blindfolded lady of justice. "It turns out that the street urchin delivered a few notes for someone else, besides the victim and Mrs. Weist…" George _enjoyed the intrigue, hesitating for dramatic effect._

"Oh?" William's eyebrow jutted up.

The constable's eyes down, he softly poked at the tiny scales of justice. He told, "It seems that Mr. Weist's daughter paid the street boy highly for his secrecy, sirs. It was only _AFTER_ their daughter left, that Mrs. Weist started sending notes. The urchin cannot read, sirs, so he knows nothing of what was written in the notes…"

"Who did the daughter send them to?" Murdoch queried.

George answered, "The boy wouldn't say, sir. Constable Marks said he thought the young urchin was sweet on her. He wouldn't betray her." George lifted a side of his mouth to give his quirky grin, attempting apology and shared disappointment.

Llewelyn thought _there could be more to the new clue_. He cleared his throat and leaned closer from his chair in front of Murdoch's desk. "The daughter left?" he asked, "Where did she go?"

George stood up, proudly tugged at the bottom of his constable's jacket. "I thought you might ask that," he said.

" _Honestly,"_ William thought to himself, " _Get on with it, George!"_

Finally, George gave an answer, "She went to 'Lady Jane Grey's Charm School' in Binghamton…"

"Of course!" Watts _fought the urge to slap himself in the head for being slow to arrive to the thought_ , "To prepare for her courtship and eventual marriage to Mr. King. Remember I told you about that earlier, detective," Watts turned to Murdoch.

Murdoch asked George to check for the daughter at the school. He instructed specific questions to be answered, "How long has she been there? Are there any contacts with anyone other than her parents? Perhaps this Mr. King? Maybe we'll get lucky, and there will be evidence of who it was she was corresponding with through the street urchin."

"Right away, sir… sirs," George answered and then left to make the calls.

In George's absence, Watts shared a worry, "Are you thinking this Mr. King could be involved with the murder of a Negro minstrel performer?" he asked Murdoch.

"No, I have no cause to think that at this point," Murdoch gave. But William sat there quiet for a moment, and he considered _how often it had been, as of late, that powerful bigwigs and politicians had played major roles in his cases._ A dread seeped down into his gut… _He hoped not…_

George returned quickly. "Sirs, I just rang the Charm School. I suppose it is too late for someone to answer the phone. I'll ring again first thing tomorrow morning."

"Very good, George," William said, standing, "It's been a long day, gentlemen. I propose we pick it up again tomorrow." Murdoch tapped his homburg onto his head, and turned, suddenly a lightness to his step.

George mumbled, "I could sure do with a good night's sleep."

All eyes turned to the constable's black and blue face.

"Most certainly," Watts said.

Watts waited to leave, _wanting to share a bit of gossip with the constable._ Murdoch had barely closed the stationhouse door behind himself when Watts whispered to Crabtree, "It seems the detective and the doctor have made up…"

"Oh?" George gleed.

"I believe he ordered her flowers," Watts said, impressed with himself for detecting such details. Then he added, "And he was humming…"

Such a grin on George's face. "Oh, that is quite good news," George replied, then thought, "No wonder he was so happy to go home."

"Indeed," Watts replied, he too wearing a smile.

) (

The Murdoch children were fast asleep by the time their father arrived home. Julia had come home early enough the tuck them into bed. She had already eaten, herself. But, truthfully, she so _enjoyed being able to care for her husband in times like these – his day long and hard, their home being a place of respite._

Not realizing until he smelled the pot roast that he was so very hungry, William sat gratefully at their kitchen table, thoroughly devouring the meal. No words were spoken between them as Julia cleaned up, and William's eyes pondered the two roses he had sent her, lovingly placed in a crystal vase in the center of the table. _He wanted to ask her if she liked them. He wanted to tell her all about the case. He wanted to ask her if she had told her students that there would be lines drawn, drawn differently, around what she 'taught' them now, now that they had reconciled. He wanted to say all of these things… But he was oh so hungry…_

 _ **It is out of the corner of the eye, sometimes, that the more subtle nuances appear to us.**_

That was how it was now, William _detecting a shadow of lusty movement from his wife, off to the side. Instantly, his heart pounded and rushed in his chest, and his breathing caught, and it seemed every wave of blood in his body rushed to his groin, and his head became deliciously soupy, and he told himself "not to look, not to look…"_

Julia's eyes gazed directly at her gorgeous, gorgeous husband, as he pretended not to notice. She slipped off her shoes, her eyes still luring him, and then she slipped her hands up inside of her skirts, up higher, and higher, and the breaths surged out of her, hot and rushed. The warm air in the kitchen kissed to her calves, her thighs, and she noticed _William swallow_ , _and her womb twisted and torqued, tight, with wanting him – with knowing he wanted her._ Slowly, seductively, Julia lowered her bloomers and her stockings under her skirts. Gently, the white, secret, feminine garments dropped to the floor.

 _Silent, dizzy, throat drying up, groin throbbing so mountainously…_

She approached him.

Right next to him beside his chair.

His eyes averted, he saw her skirts lifting up – _naked, creamy, luscious, luscious legs, long, long, shapely-smooth legs..._

She straddled him there in his chair.

"Husband," she whispered in his ear.

"Wife," she heard the raspiness in his voice.

 _ **Whew**_ _, the way this woman moved over him, flooded, warm and slippery and succulent, all over him, made him so very grateful to be alive._

 _The wave crashed into them – HARD. His trousers an impediment quickly removed…_

"Love me, William. Please, please, never stop. Love me with every atom, and every spark, and every drop you have," she moaned, as the rhythm rushed, _and the crescendo was sensed just ahead, so close, so close, to sharing every… every… everything._

And the gushing sweetness flowed and fired and streamed and flooded and soared and erupted and deluged and geysered and spilled and filled and glowed between them, within them, _deep, deep, deep inside, heavenly joining, heavenly… sweet… touch – sealed…always and forever, sealed, warm, and sweet, and perfect._

Finished, smothering him in smoldering soft, warm, melty-from-exhaustion, kisses, she told him, "The urge just took me, I'm afraid…."

She giggled, and he felt _his heart burst with loving her, the flush of it so warm…_

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, then tipped a shoulder forward towards him with a flirtatious wiggle.

"No," he managed to answer her.

And then he blushed, and she gleed, "William! You're blushing!"

And he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and shrugged.

And she exclaimed, almost in a whisper, intimate and honest between them, "You are truly magnificent."

And he turned even more red, and then swallowed to find the ability to speak. "As are you," he gave her.

She kissed him, and then said, "I suppose I should let you finish your dinner," and flowered him with another delicious giggle, and then she dismounted. "I believe our resolution of our troubles deserves a celebration, of sorts," she said, retrieving her bloomers from the kitchen floor.

William busied himself returning his own underwear and trousers to their proper positions. "Oh?" he asked her.

"I have a bottle of champagne," she whispered, and she opened the icebox where she had chilled it. She lifted the bottle with an inviting gesture towards him. "Is it possible that I could get my modest and teetotaling husband to indulge with me?" she invited.

Now, every possible edge of this man's resistance had already been weakened by their unexpected and rather jungly 'romance,' and he _absolutely would have done anything to make her happy_ , so he lifted an eyebrow at her, to be rewarded by her giggle, and then waited for her to push him further…

"Please," she flirted.

And he nodded.

And she smiled.

 _And, somehow, his heart expanded even more with love for her so that it ached with the glow._

William returned to finishing his dinner. Julia merrily retrieved _TWO_ champagne glasses.

She took her seat just around the corner from him and softly tinked the glasses into place between them. _Now, Julia Ogden knew her husband quite well, and she could tell by the look of him that his thoughts had already returned to the case. Truth be told, she adored his doggedness._ Yielding to it, she invited, "I heard that Mr. Beau Jangles escaped."

His eyes darted up to meet hers, _wondering – for she had gone to teach her University class that afternoon…_

There was a quick smile before she explained, "From George… He came over to the morgue to get cleaned-up… after his big fight, just before I left."

"Yes," William replied. "He suffered quite a beating…"

"He looked like William Jr.!" Julia tilted close to him to share. There was still pride in the memory.

William sighed. "The Inspector is upset," he fretted. He scooped up what was one of the last bites from his plate and held the fork to say, "He says the papers will blast us about it." He took his bite. Then he gave her that lovely sideways glance.

"Yes, I suppose they probably will," she acknowledged compassionately, then added, "No doubt at your expense." And she watched him frown, and then reach up and rub at his brow. "Any suspects," she dared ask.

Julia _almost giggled_ with William's expression. _It was not a happy one_.

His wife leaned to him, _her big blue eyes so opened and caring, and also delightfully curious. She would draw it out of him, and, my goodness, how he loved her for it._

William chewed, _contemplating the possibilities_ , then swallowed. "One has an alibi," he said, _thinking of Weist,_ "The other probably lacks means," he frowned _thinking of Dame Clara._

"I see," she replied.

Julia reached over and covered his hand with hers. Her fingers glided over his golden, smooth, wedding ring.

His eyes lifted to the coupled yellow roses in the vase. _A twitch in his groin, he remembered her sitting down on him in the chair._ The memories of mere moments before fired so delightfully. He placed his fork down and slipped his hand out from under hers, and then reached up to take one of her curls in his fingers. The edges of his fingers slipped across the softness of her cheek and he said, "You remembered the words in the poem?"

A warm breeze of an exhale from her nostrils, she replied, "I wondered, at first, because the note was not written in your hand, but… well, I could hear your voice inside my head when I read it." And as she looked into his chocolaty brown eyes, and the most scrumptious of thoughts flared through her head, and she smiled, for _it was truly lovely_ , and then she said to him, "It's funny, how a man who is so unexpectedly 'uneasy' about butterflies can give them to me all the time."

It was subtle, William Murdoch's blush… not so subtle, the twinkle in his eye. "Very good," he bowed to her winsomely.

The honesty between them momentarily too big to bear, Julia turned her attention to the champagne.

William went back to the few bites of his dinner.

Easier, with a bit more distance, she said, "I had the most interesting thought when I received the flowers today."

There was that delicious sidewards glance from him.

She smiled and told, "I thought to myself, 'Some men court with flowers, William Murdoch does it with magic…'"

 _ **POP!**_ The champagne cork fired out of the bottle!

And Julia giggled with the opportune timing of its bursting flare with her words. She went on to explain, as she poured the fizzy brew, "It was because I remembered the first gift you ever gave me. Remember…? The telephonic probe…?"

His beautiful eyes held to hers, intrigued.

William nodded. _He remembered it. He remembered Miss Pansall's séance, and her reconjuring the memories in his head of Liza kissing him, in her red dress, in the park, and her silver-horse necklace dangling in the sunshine, and how Miss Pansall had told him Liza's message for him, and he how he had felt the shift down in the marrow of his bones, and he knew that_ _ **it was possible now, to give his heart wholly to another**_ _, and he just knew that every cell in his body_ _ **wanted to impress her**_ _and so he made the telephonic probe for her. It had taken him all night. And he felt such butterflies in building up the nerve to give it to her… Yes, he remembered it._

Her hand reached over and cupped his cheek. "You see, William. You gave magic," she adored, "Absolute magic. I was head-over-heels, I'll have you know."

"As was I," he admitted. _But, being the man that he is – an inventor, his mind tinkered with mixing the past with the present, and he remembered that night, making the telephonic probe, and he remembered too, his blackboard downstairs with his plans for his ULTRAsound which he was making to help her hide her IUD study, and the complex and head-ache inducing mixture of his graphizer that was able to read underwater sound pulses and the tele-vision he had made with Tesla with which he hoped to show the image_ – and the thought hit – _"the telephonic probe! It would be perfect to connect the two machines!"_

"Julia!" he declared, his eyes with that boyish sparkle, "You are brilliant. The telephonic probe! It's just what I needed!" then his mind moved to the finer details, "With a few adjustments, it could be just the thing to transmit the multiple, slightly different wavelengths of sound to reflect off of the different facets of the inner body, and send the echoes to the receiver to make a comprehensive image on the tele-vision. It's going to work, Julia! The ULTRAsound, it's going to work!"

"That's marvelous, William," she cheered with him. "Shall we toast it?" she asked, reminding of the champagne.

 _Perhaps it was because William's confidence had surged so with working out the kinks with his latest invention, but he was thoroughly drawn, now, to solving the case_. His eyes caught hers with his questions. _He had meant to ask her, he remembered now…_

"Julia…?"

The importance of his tone stole her breath, so that she whispered her reply, "Yes…?"

He leaned closer and said, "Many times you have dressed as a man…"

 _Oh, this was not going the way she had expected_ , she thought, and her face twisted slightly, disappointed and curious. She took a breath and strengthened inside. _She supposed she could go along with him._ "Yes," she gave, "I even considered dressing as a man now that Miss Cherry is so interested in snooping about – when I must go out to meet with the women, for the IUDs… on the study."

William leaned even closer, "Do you think a woman could have been pretending to be Mr. Beau Jangles that night. You know, with the baseball bat…?"

Julia's eyes blinked – _he was going a bit fast…_

"Do you think it could have been a woman?" he pressed. "Like you did when you dressed up as a man to get into the cells undetected, to see me – as my solicitor. And… And, also when you were dressed up with all those other basketball-women, to sneak into men's clubs," William rushed through the list. Then he thought of another twist, "Even James Gillies…"

And Julia's eyes changed with the mention of the evil man's name between them unexpectedly.

And William regretted troubling her, but he was on such a roll, so he barreled forward, "James Gillies convinced witnesses that he was you!" William gained steam, "I mean, he used a mask, but… Oh," William remembered, "He even pulled off being a woman before that! Remember – he walked all around town, out in broad daylight, as Gillian James!"

"I do suppose it took quite a lot of make-up," Julia inserted an attempt at a small joke, finally feeling she had caught up to him. "Are you thinking it was a woman… who was seen by all those witnesses, flailing about so violently, deceiving them into believing she was a drunken Mr. Beau Jangles…?"

"I suppose I am," he replied, "There is a Negro woman, Dame Clara…" _But a problem hit him…_

And Julia saw doubt appear on his face…

"The witnesses reported that he spoke," William said it almost as if he'd seen a ghost, the air flying out of his balloon. "They heard him threaten Mr. William's for betraying him with the boss about wearing blackface. I doubt she could fake a man's voice so well," William frowned.

Oddly, it was Julia who reached up to rub at her brow. "The voice has always been the biggest problem with the disguise," she agreed.

He looked to her, and a flood of memories rushed back to him, of _how awful it had been when Gilles had framed her for Darcy's murder. And how sorry he was that he had ever doubted her. And how glad he was that he had told her so… "Was that just last night?"_ The question surprised him. William sighed again. His thoughts resumed, " _Gillies frame had been ingenious, truly ingenious. To pull this show off the killer would have had to have been a magician as well,"_ William thought.

"You'll figure it out, William," Julia said.

And their eyes held. And they felt the connection again.

He smiled at her and lifted his glass. "To our resolution…" he suggested the toast.

"And to our joined efforts, and your brilliant invention," she added, joining her glass to his for the crystal clink…

 _ **Oh, but the discoveries would be even more amazing, because…**_

When William lifted his glass to toast with her, he spied one or two tiny pieces of cork floating on the surface of the golden bubbles.

And Julia watched his expression change. His head tilted to the side, immensely focused inward, oddly simultaneously relaxed and invigorated, and she knew _his brain was zipping along inside of his head, and she knew, she knew, he was about to uncover something that would crack the case…_

William's eyes settled back into hers. "It's the cork," he said matter-of-factly.

"The cork?" she questioned him, lifting one of her eyebrows high.

Bringing her back with him to the correct time, he explained, "There was cork in what I thought was car-engine grease – left by the killer on the garbage pail behind the Tipsy Ferret…"

She remembered _him bringing the black greasy substance to her in the morgue. It had had tiny pieces of cork in it. George had said that cork was common in automobile engines…"_

"Julia!" William was so excited, "The killer doesn't have to be a Negro…!"

"No?!" she was so puzzled.

"No! The killer was wearing blackface! Blackface make-up! It's made from burnt cork!" he exclaimed.

"That's brilliant, William!" she joined in his excitement. "Does that tell you who the killer is?" she hurried him.

"Perhaps," he said, not making the claim aloud, _though his heart was certain it was Mr. Weist_. He took a breath, the problems with the solution coming more starkly into focus with her question. "I suspect the killer is Mr. Weist. It would take a master showman to pull this off. He certainly has the theatrical skills," he began to dig in with her by his side.

"But what troubles you about him as the killer?" she asked.

"Motive," William said plainly. "There were rumors that Weist's wife could have been having an affair with the victim, but they are unsubstantiated…" he rubbed at his brow. "Unlikely, to be honest…" William _hesitated with revealing his reason for doubting the motive to her, suddenly finding that he was embarrassed by it_. He swallowed and pushed the words out, his wrinkle at the corner of his mouth already apologizing to her for his pettiness and typically male judgments, "Too old, I'd say." He would jump to the next thought, not giving her a chance to really judge him about it. "Could it be the daughter, somehow?"

"Weist's daughter?" Julia clarified. "How could his daughter be his motive?" she wondered.

William nodded, telling, "Weist's daughter is said to be away at an American charm school receiving training in being a toff hostess for her impending nuptials to the Deputy Minister of Labor… a Mr. King…."

"King?" Julia questioned what she heard, "Do you mean Lyon Mackenzie King, William?"

William nodded. "Yes. According to the minstrel show's manager, the marriage is the pan-ultimate event that both hoists, and solidifies, the Weist's making it into the upper echelons of high society.

Shaking her head, Julia cautioned, "Oh William, I believe Mr. King is much more aligned to Isaac's tastes…" she _hinted at Mr. King having a preference for men_. She waited for William to nod, and went on, "Either the Weist's are being dragged along by Mr. King intentionally, or they made much more out of small dalliance than they should have. I'd wager Mr. King will never actually marry."

His frown spoke his mind.

Julia brightened, "Perhaps they sensed King's apprehension? Thus, they sent her to this charm school, thinking that was the problem?"

"Perhaps," he agreed, "Even so, it is quite foggy as to how she might be related to her father's reason for committing murder… And a murder of a Negro minstrel performer seems in no way connected…" _His head hurt._ That's when William felt himself _decide to put it all aside for now. A big breakthrough had come. He was grateful for it. Given time, the pieces would fall into place._

Julia stood and took away his, now empty, plate. Her eyes paused at his champagne glass – still half-full. He had pulled out the pieces of cork and placed them on the edge of his plate. She paused there thinking, " _He is brilliant – he truly is!"_

"Come up to bed, William. Take a nice hot shower…" so quickly her aura became lusty, "Perhaps, since we have 'rekindled' our romance," _she intentionally used another quote from his poem_ , "I will join you in the steam, and the soap, hmm?" And then she sighed, _the scrumptious butterflies back with just imagining it._

"Very good," he agreed. _He was getting closer to solving the case. For now, it would be alright to let himself fall into bliss with her. He would pick it all up again tomorrow, fresh and new and revitalized_.

The plate away in the sink, Julia took his hand in hers.

And resisting, ever so slightly, her tug for just a moment, William Murdoch lifted his champagne glass to his lips and swallowed down the bubbly sweetness.

 _ **A teetotaler, mostly. Although, once again, the love of his life had managed to increase his dimensions and facet out in him, yet another, delightful, delightful, side.**_

 _ **And perhaps it was because of her, that once again, William Murdoch had the heart to muddle through.**_

)) ((


	10. 10 To Live is to Risk

Chapter 10: To Live is to Risk

It was the middle of the night. William and Julia had gone to bed thoroughly satiated after making love – twice, for after their warmed-over-supper surprise down in the kitchen, there had been the rather sultry shower before bed. It was like a second honeymoon, their having recently made-up with each other after such a long, long and difficult time of fighting. Barely drying off after their shower together, they had practically fallen into bed and then dropped off to sleep as soon as their heads had hit the pillows, for so much had been done, had been accomplished, that they were deliciously consumed. Besides re-strengthening their bond physically, they had also done so in one of their favorite other ways, by talking through one of William's troubling cases. They had struck gold, for Julia had helped him discover an important clue. There had been plenty of cause to celebrate, which they had done with champagne, delightfully, with _William_ even joining in in the partaking.

Disturbed in his sleep, William mumbled, and twitched, and tossed and turned about, the commotion lifting Julia's sleep, then waking her. She rolled to him, quietly worrying, for she suspected his dream was not a pleasant one…

 **The old man's back was to him, but he was** _ **certain he knew him**_ **. He was sitting, working, intently focused, on something small, in his hands. William heard his own breaths as he stepped closer up behind the man, gaining sight of what it was the man worked on –** _ **it was the wooden bird. "It's Mr. Beau Jangles!"**_ **William suddenly knew.**

 **A movement at the periphery caught his eye. "Julia?" he asked after her. He could see that** _ **she secretly carried a small copper IUD in her pocket.**_ **She lifted a finger to her lips, reminding of** _ **their shared secret. A familiar uneasiness trickled into his veins, for he had noticed then, that she had been surrounded by fluttering butterflies…**_

 **Suddenly he was somewhere else. There was a fluttering sound. He knew for certain that** _ **someone was in trouble – someone needed his help!**_ **His heart raced as he searched to find which way to run.** _ **"Shh,"**_ **he told himself inside of his head,** _ **"Listen…"**_

" _ **The flutters! Over there, just in that alleyway!"**_ **the location of the emergency came.** __

 **A clattering of metallic bangs and clanks sounded as he rushed for the danger… A few human voices mixed in…**

 **And then he saw it** _ **– the cage**_ **, and he instantly understood what it was that was** _ **making the fluttering sounds. The little bird inside the cage, it was thrashing its chest, its wings, its head, its whole body, with all of its might, against the bars, wanting out, wanting to fly, wanting NOT to be alone, wanting to be free.**_ **And under that soft, beating sound of feathers and flesh and bone against the metal bars, the other racket barraged into his ears, made by** _ **the stoning of thrown rocks smashing against the other side of the bars. Bullies. There were bullies all around… Boys… older boys…**_ **Such a panic gripped him as he thought,** _ **"William Jr.! Where's William Jr.?!"**_ **And he knew** _ **as a policeman, HE would need to be the one to stop the brutes.**_ **He charged in, a fist clenched and drawn back, committed to the punch…**

 **But he hit nothing…**

 **For he was suddenly** _ **in the bullpen at the stationhouse.**_ **He** _ **saw the bullies, hanging about, mingled in amongst the constables in their uniforms**_ **. He looked to the Inspector's office** _ **– "Someone there, but not the Inspector…"**_

" **Sir!" he insisted crossing the bullpen. "Sir. These men out here… these are the criminals," he told to the man who was not the Inspector, who reacted by turning his back on him. "Sir?" William called to his superior, confused, and then he** _ **noticed that the man's shoulder… "It was so cold,"**_ **the thought chilled into him, the man's** _ **shoulder was covered in dusty-white frost.**_ **And the coldness swept straight into his lungs, and the cramping shut off his ability to get air, nearly choking him, and William fought against the frigid bite.** _ **He was alone**_ **, he suddenly saw it clearly. He, himself alone, would need to make the arrests.**

 **William approached a small bunch of the bullies. He pulled back the lapel of his jacket and started making his usual introduction, "Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constab…"** _ **but… but…**_ **His voice had stopped, and tears filled his eyes, for** _ **he had no badge**_ **. Devastated to have lost it, he frantically checked his pockets!** _ **"Nothing! Nothing there. "Perhaps I left it at home?!"**_ **but he was** _ **certain, CERTAIN, he had not.**_ _ **He had lost his badge.**_ **And the bullies laughed, and they too turned their backs on him. He considered** _ **explaining, explaining that he really was Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary, but he was also certain that he would not be believed**_ **.** _ **There was nothing to do but to leave the stationhouse. Nothing to do… Nothing to do…**_ **And then Julia had him, had him in her arms. And, sweetly, she tried to soothe him, and her tender caring broke his heart more than it could bear, and so he just fell, fell into sobbing, crying to her, "Julia. Julia. I lost my badge. I lost it…"**

And then he was awake… in their bed… in her arms.

"Shh, William. My love, it was just a dream. Shh. It's alright. Everything's alright," she whispered and kissed and held him.

His mind was moving so fast, and it was so cloudy and so confused, and heavy – heavy, making it slow. "I must have done something wrong, something that made everyone shun me. They wouldn't believe me," his voice still begged for it not to be true.

"It was just a dream," she reminded him, and she took a slow, deep breath.

And he remembered he needed to breathe too.

" _Shh,_ " he felt her lips touch his ear. And he inhaled, and then exhaled. And he looked for her face in the darkness.

And he settled, and calmed, and felt more sure.

Out of the mistiness of the dream now, William adjusted his position, needing to feel stronger, to rise out of the claustrophobic helplessness, so he shifted up to sit with his back leaned against the headboard of their bed. Julia sat up next to him and invited him to put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He told her what he could remember of the dream, about Mr. Beau Jangles, and the wooden bird that was a real bird, and how it was in a cage, trying to get out, and that _SHE_ had suddenly been there too, with an IUD in her pocket, and she had shushed him before moving on, and that he had been uneasy about her being surrounded by the erraticness of butterflies… And then he remembered that there were all these bullies throwing rocks at the bird's cage, and he had needed to stop them, but the Inspector – "no, somebody else, but somebody _like_ the Inspector, wouldn't listen to him… It was so odd," William suddenly remembered the ghostly image in his mind, "He had _FROST_ on his shoulder. And then I tried to arrest the bullies, but I didn't have my badge. And I just knew for certain that I had lost my badge… that I wasn't a detective anymore."

Julia fought the hum threatening to play in her ears, and she recognized the feeling, the feeling of being frightened, as she listened to him. It was that feeling that led her to the thought – the thought that his dream was as much about their recent troubles as a couple as it was about his case.

He waited, listened to her breathe.

Despite the darkness, she could tell he had wrinkled a corner of his mouth, and there was the slightest hint of a chuckle. "You are the psychiatrist amongst us," he said.

She took a deep breath, calling her courage. _They had always been stronger together…_ "William," her voice told that she sensed she had figured it out, "I believe your dream was about your fear that we…" and a part of her brain noted _the_ _ **power**_ _of that last word she had said –_ _ **WE**_ _, and she felt this profound sense of gratitude for it, for having him with her, for them being together in it,_ and she went on, "That we will get caught… um… Well, clearly the butterflies, like when you found your mother. I'd figure they represent your fear that you will lose me… because of the study." _There was more though, something new, from this dream._ "But also… well there seems to be more to it than that…" _And an idea of it came, and this newfound, harder, part had stalled her for a moment,_ but she continued on, "You fear that we will get caught conducting the IUD study. I… That it will cost you your job." Her mind said more – _that their working_ _ **together**_ _to make the world a better and a more fair place for women was as much as she could ever have wished for in all the world, but it_ _ **also had its cost, and this was it.**_ _ **He… HE could get hurt.**_ _Up until this, she had only considered his fear that he would lose her, that their children would lose her, if she got caught._ She continued on, eyes wider with the deeper knowing, a shallow swallow to steady her voice, "The dream is telling you that you fear that we will get caught, and you would lose your badge… and, I suppose, with the butterflies too, that you fear you will lose me too."

He wrinkled corner of mouth. _He had thought the same thing, just not so clearly._

She argued with herself not to fall into regret, and guilt, and into asking for his forgiveness. _William Murdoch had gallantly, lovingly, accepted her for who she was. More than that, he had recognized that he loved her FOR it. He chose to join her in this risk, so as to help, to help her do something so important as this study is better, to help her NOT get caught, to be ONE with her in something that mattered this much to her. She would not take the beauty of his decisions away from him. He deserved better._ _It would be better than my asking for his forgiveness,_ she thought, _to delve deeper into those fears, his fears, as expressed in the dream, but also hers too, and face them together._

"Dreams can be so fascinating, William," she said, her intrigue lightening him next to her.

"Mm," his simple answer.

"Well," she breathed a bit faster, "Consider the frost you saw on the man's shoulder… the one who was like the Inspector. I think the man represents the whole Constabulary. And the frost on his shoulder… It was like he was giving you the…"

"The cold shoulder," William nearly gasped with the discovery.

"Yes," she replied, snuggling deeper into him, longing for his connection, his assurance that his love had not wavered with seeing the darker side more intimately. "You fear not only losing your job if we get caught, but also being rejected by those you… we, both hold so dear."

He nodded.

"I think that hurts even more… would hurt you even more, than losing your job would, to be disapproved of by those who have come to be like family," she explained further.

"I suppose you are right," he agreed.

 _ **Oh, she lost the battle a bit with her regret, for her heart sunk with the weight of it.**_

A corner of Julia's mouth lifted into a wrinkle, her own acknowledgment of the hurt, and she said, "It is undeniable that you have risked what is terribly important to you to…" she needed to swallow, for it was hard, "to be with me… to love me, William, as you do."

In response, he then wrinkled the corner of his mouth at her, pointless to deny the truth of what she was saying, impossible to dismiss the depth of the impact to which he felt the fear of losing so much. He hugged her closer, kissed at her hair. He held her there, softly for a moment, long enough to breathe in the scent of her, to feel her take a breath and trust that his love was as strong as she had believed, that it was true, and that she could depend on it.

They stayed quiet, thoughts traveling from there.

A deeper breath, Julia drew his attention. "It isn't the first time you've broken the law," she reminded.

He already knew that _that was true_ , but his mind flew down multiple pathways searching for _which particular time she meant. The word 'first' repeated…_

"Constance Gardiner," he thought it exactly as she said it. "You let Constance Gardiner go free. You risked everything then, hmm?"

"Very much so," he agreed, and a memory ran _of Constance Gardiner asking him if he would regret releasing her, that it would cost him his career… and he heard his own voice, outside and inside, because the sudden awareness of the truth was everywhere to be found, "You'll never know what it's cost me,"_ and he remembered _he had been thinking of Julia, and her marrying Darcy at that very same moment, but there was everything else he was sacrificing too, his job, his reputation, his betrayal of the Inspector's trust in him…_

A brighter thought appeared. William leaned his mouth closer to her and she sensed his smile. "Father Clements… in his sermon Sunday, told of the early biblical heroes as being jailbirds… and God set them free, for there were higher truths than man's laws," he said.

And Julia remembered telling him about her image of women, through all of time, being trapped in a cage made of bars of something seemingly indestructible, their very own bodies, their biology, and that the IUD would be a key to set them free. _Oh, it was a tangly mess, William's Catholic Faith and his love of the law, and even more so for being true, for being good, for being a good man in God's eyes, and it seemed to be their very fate together for her to challenge it. She prayed she would never ask so much of him that he could not stretch or bend to contain it._

She added, "It seemed even Father Keegan faced similar struggles," hoping the thought would provide him comfort.

It seemed it did, for he kissed her cheek and said, "Thank you milady. I feel most able to put the dream behind me now. I suggest we try to return to sleep."

Together, they shifted, and slipped themselves down under the sheets. "That sounds well-advised," she gave, her golden-red curls fanning out over her pillow, and her eyes touching to his in the dim shadows of the middle of the night. The urge took her to tell him, "I love you," before she closed her eyelids.

" _And I you,"_ he imagined replying, but chose not to, for sleep was lingering close. _"Silence would better the falling…_ " his brain had its last, conscious, rational thought.

And William and Julia were asleep once more.

) (

Before the Sun, Eloise stood before the array of headlines along the row at the newsstand. _Not a one had a good word to say about the detective's case._ Audibly, she released a sigh.

The man behind the newsstand commented, "Your Master and Mistress won't be happy about these now, will they, missus?"

"They surely will not," Eloise responded, shaking her head at both the bad press that the detective and the doctor were receiving, and her own difficulty in choosing which papers to purchase for the detective.

Another sigh, this one bordering on a groan, she said, "I suppose they'd best see Miss Cherry's and get that over with," she handed the man some coins. "The Gazette and the Daily Star, please," she had decided. Before tucking the two papers atop her bag of groceries Eloise paused to re-read the _**Toronto Gazette's**_ headline once more, " **Negro-Killer Escapes Toronto: Deputy Minister King Demands Detective's Badge** _."_ She thought to herself, " _Better that one first. At least it is somewhat professional_ ," as she planned which paper the detective would see first. " _And besides, there isn't a chance in_ hades _it'll come to all that,_ " she reassured herself, collecting both papers. She did not re-read Miss Cherry's headline, for _it stuck in her mind like bee sting_ , and further, she _feared she would become sick in seeing it again_.

Feet already traveling down the road, her mind replayed the mudslinging title back to herself despite her efforts to avoid it, " **NOT so '** _ **Brilliant**_ **;' Murdoch Bungles and Negro-Killer Flees.** " _Oh, it really irked her, that nasty woman's insistence on using the doctor's own well-meant, protective words to hurt her husband. "Honestly…!"_ she complained, her _teeth_ actually aching with her anger. " _Take a breath, Ellie_ ," she told herself, " _Take a breath. They've weathered worse than this before."_ She blew out the pent-up pressure through her pursed lips. " _At least it's a beautiful morning,"_ she tried to cheer. She listened to the dawning world… _her own footsteps, hoofbeats and carriages in the background, beautiful, beautiful little birds chirping, and cheeping, and twittering, and warbling their lovely songs all around._ And she remembered brave young Master Murdoch saving the baby birds from the attempted stoning, up high in their nest, and she puffed up her chest and she walked taller. _It would only take time, but that horrible Miss Cherry would most surely be eating herself some humble pie in the end, of that Eloise was certain._

) (

William stirred, the enchanting dusty shades of pink and yellow spilling into the room telling _it was early still – early enough_. With romance on his mind, and already coursing through his body, he snuggled in behind his warm, delicious wife. His fingers, his lips, his breath, on her, soft, wanting, calling.

She roused, such a long deep breath, soaking him in, as they rolled together, her coming to be above him. She slipped her long leg, naked and smooth, and with that perfect little puff of a tuft of hair brushing against his thigh, up to his hip, over him, the two of them basking in the silky feeling of bare skin gliding along over bare skin. She noticed… the bigger bump, as her thigh traveled upward. "William," she teased.

Oh, the look on his face floored her, for _William Murdoch wanted to play._

"Doctor," he said, the tone of him torqueing her insides with want, "I have a terribly throbbing ache…"

"I noticed, detective," her lusty response told she would be happy to play along. "There does seem to be rather a great deal of swelling," she said, and then she sent his brain into spinning, taking him in hand.

Such effort, William formed the simple words, compelled them through his raspy throat, shaped his mouth, tongue, lips to reply, "Do you think there's anything to be done, doctor?"

And he swore that he would never withstand the force as he _flew backwards and shot forwards and fell up and plummeted down and spun, so scrumptiously, out of breath,_ when she teased further, "Perhaps, detective, I could kiss it and make it better."

 _Mmm,_ how his breathing surged out of his nostrils, as if he were a wild bull readying to charge for having seen the red cape, and Julia knew, delighted to the core, that William Murdoch had been rendered entirely incapable of speaking. She smiled at her plans, for _she would drive him so very close to his utter edge, and then, when he could not withstand holding back his release for even one second more, she would roll over and lie on her back, press herself down hard into the mattress, and tempt him to cover her, and then she would surrender herself, completely, to him…_

 _ **Now this, THIS, was marital bliss.**_

) (

The Tuesday morning headlines had been so damaging that the Inspector had called for an all-hands-on-deck meeting. Murdoch had requested that his wife, the Chief Coroner of Toronto, among other things, be included. Constable Crabtree had made the phone call over to the morgue. The men waited for her, discussing the likely impact of the bashing news headlines. The Inspector was more than certain that the Chief Inspector would be calling to put pressure on them for _'allowing'_ Mr. Beau Jangles to be released, and then _'allowing'_ the so-called 'Negro-Killer' to get away.

Dr. Ogden appeared in the doorway. "Gentlemen," she greeted. She stepped in to join her husband, and Inspector Brackenreid, and Detective Watts and Constable Crabtree. She sat next to William on the small sofa. With a quick nod, the gesture aimed Brackenreid's way, she said as she straightened her skirts, "Thank you, Inspector."

The Inspector smiled. This remarkable woman had been one among their circle for as many years as he could remember. A slew of thoughts and memories flooded into his mind in that moment… _Murdoch sending the doctor undercover as a lady-basketball player,_ this first one prompting him to shake his head and feel giddy with the thought… And then he remembered when _that sinister toff, that diabolically smug James Gillies, had abducted her – buried the woman alive…!_ And in juxtaposition to that thought, the next one rushed in as if to put the shoe on the other foot, _the doctor being the one to save Murdoch this time, his best man unconscious and drowning down in the bowels of a sinking ship…_ _Oh, most certainly, she belonged…_ "You are surely one of us, doctor," he said, "You are much more than welcome."

"Why thank you, Inspector," she said graciously.

"Murdoch," the Inspector's tone changed the subject and instantly got them all down to business, "As lead detective on this case, please take us through a review of the evidence." All eyes turned to William.

A quick nod, Murdoch stood, and while fiddling with Mr. Beau Jangles' woodcarving of a bird in his trousers' pocket he took to pacing back and forth while he expounded on the case. "Despite what the morning's newspaper headlines would have you believe," he started right at the hottest part of their troubles, "there was ample evidence warranting the release of Mr. Beau Jangles on the charges of murdering his partner in the Weist Minstrel Show Jubilee, Mr. Ernie Williams. We have not revealed this evidence to the press, but WE know this evidence to consist of the facts that Mr. Beau Jangles was drugged on the night of the murder, as Dr. Ogden found laudanum in his bloodstream, and his shoes did not match the shoeprints found in the coal-dust where the body was set on fire.

William paused to catch the eyes of the others. " _Good,_ " he thought to himself, and moved on.

There was a quick scratch of his brow with his free hand, and then the pacing resumed. The slightest shrug, he continued, "Originally, we suspected the killer to be a Negro man because a man matching Mr. Beau Jangles' description had been reported to have threatened Mr. Williams' life while in a drunken tirade outside of Papa's Poolroom…"

Detective Watts hurried a question at the pause, "You said, ' _ **originally**_.' Has that changed?"

 _ **Julia saw William's smile.**_

William stopped. "We'll get to that, detective," he answered. His pacing recommenced, now both hands in his pockets as he went on, "We know that Mr. Beau Jangles had been recently involved in altercations with the owner of the show, Mr. Weist, and his manager, Mr. Toddy, over his demands that Negro performers no longer be required to wear blackface makeup, and over his demands that Negroes earn the same wages as whites. Mr. Beau Jangles also argued with Mr. Williams about his betrayal, the victim being the one to cross sides, as it were, and agree to Mr. Weist's old ways."

Another pause… met with nods.

"Our interviews yielded that the Weist's have a daughter who is betrothed to an important toff, thus making her parents very happy by moving their social standing up in the world. We also learned that she has recently been sent away to a finishing school… a charm school in the States…" Murdoch said. Then, suddenly thinking of something, he halted and inhaled and turned to George. "Constable, have you tried yet this morning to contact the finishing school in Birmingham?"

"No, err, I thought it was too early," Crabtree explained, already standing from his chair. "I'll try now, sir," he offered.

"Thank you," Murdoch gave him his answer.

The pacing resumed. Murdoch went on, "We were also informed that the victim and Mrs. Weist exchanged messages – notes, using the same street boy. Along with that, there were rumors that Mrs. Weist and Mr. Williams were having an affair…" There was a pause, then a reverse in the pacing. Back to it, William said, "Now, the street boy was found, and the boy reported that Mrs. Weist had only recently begun sending notes to Mr. Williams…" Murdoch's quick spin on his heel suggested that there would be excitement in what he said next. A hand out of his pocket he held it up and then squeezed his fingers into a fist and then said, "Prior to that it was the Weist's DAUGHTER who had sent the Negro performer notes."

The others leaned forward, intrigued. Murdoch had more.

"In my interview with a Negress from the minstrel show, Dame Clara, a woman who admitted that the victim and herself had been involved romantically, I was told that Mr. Williams had stopped seeing Dame Clara because he had fallen in love with another woman, a younger, WHITE, woman, and it could follow that this woman was the Weist's daughter," Murdoch connected the dots.

Inspector Brackenreid commented, "I'd wager Ma and Pa Weist wouldn't have been too happy about that bloody news, now would they me ole mucker."

Detective Watts added, "Nor their manager. Mr. Toddy seemed quite interested in the daughter himself. And the man is… well let's say 'old fashioned,' in his ideas about the Negro's place in this world."

Julia leaned forward and suggested, "Perhaps that's the reason the Weist's sent their daughter out of the country… to stop her seeing Mr. Williams?"

It was that moment that Crabtree returned. Everyone could tell he had news – it was that quirky twist at the one side of his mouth. "Sirs, err, sirs and doctor," he gratefully got to the point, "I rang the Charm School. The woman I spoke to is the matron of the school… It seems that there is not now, nor ever has there been, in the matron's seven years with the school, a Canadian girl at the school with the surname of Weist… sirs… doctor…" He wrinkled his face with the surprise and the mystery and the puzzle.

"A fabricated story then," Watts concluded.

"But why?" George queried.

"Aren't these finishing schools rather expensive?" William suggested, looking to his wife. "Perhaps the Weist's could not afford such a reputable school…?" William wrinkled his face in doubt.

"Are you suggesting they sent her somewhere else…? Somewhere less expensive?" Julia wondered aloud, turning to include the others in her question.

Detective Watts answered, "The Weist's are far from wealthy, according to Mr. Toddy…"

Then William interjected, going back to his pacing, "They probably could not afford 'Lady Jane Grey's Charm School,' in Birmingham, though I'm sure they'd like to have everyone else believe they could."

"Particularly the bloody toff she was marrying," the Inspector reminded.

Now here William's mind ran rather quickly – leading him through a web of ideas that all expanded and then fell back into one. In the end, he had come to the fact that _he suspected Mr. Weist of the killing_. He began to think out _what he would need to say to catch the others up to why he thought so_. He started, "That's an important point, Inspector, uh… about the Weist's being motivated to convince their daughter's _**suitor**_ of her receiving a higher quality education. It gets us to motive… possibly…" And then, at that very moment in that sentence, William remembered that _Mr. Weist's lack of a motive had been bothering him terribly… that, and the fact that Weist had an alibi for the night of the killing, with multiple witnesses corroborating that Weist was in Papa's Poolroom all night the night Williams had been killed_. And then he remembered that _he had been struggling with all of these problems last night._ And his mind advanced and moved backward in time, and he _saw himself sitting at their kitchen table eating his warmed-over supper…_

 _ **Wham! It happened right then…**_

 _ **Oh, and my oh my, a thunderbolt of a memory charged in**_ – _Julia removing her bloomers, slipping so seductively into his lap…_

Abruptly, William turned, midstride, midsentence, away from the others, feigning a reverse of direction in his pacing. A breath, " _Where was I…?_ his mind raced to recover. He massaged vigorously at his forehead…

"Motive?! Bloody hell, Murdoch!" the Inspector replied, briefly standing to accentuate his point. "How in the world does the Weist's hiding the fact that they sent their daughter to a cheap finishing school get us to a motive for a **Negro man** to kill Ernie Williams?!" Thomas _cursed this Murdoch_ in his head – _bloody slow as molasses and so fast no one could keep up with him at the same time._

Gratefully, the Inspector's complaint shook William out of his own tizzy. There was a noticeable sigh of relief from Murdoch. "Well, that's just it, sir," William held his breath for a moment.

" _Bollocks!_ " the Inspector groaned in his head.

The pacing began again, and William's hand returned to clasp the little wooden bird in his pocket, as if rubbing it could absorb some of his tension. Murdoch reminded, "Early on in the case I had found a black greasy substance on one of the garbage pails where the body of Ernie Williams had been hidden, before the body was later moved and set on fire behind Hodge's bar, the Tipsy Ferret." He checked for nods, and then went on, "I had mistakenly figured it to be automobile engine grease…" he shrugged and frowned, admitting it had been an important blunder that he regretted making.

George remembered, "Oh yes, sir. You asked me if cork is used in car engines."

"Yes," William said. "It was thanks to Julia that I finally made the connection," William gave, with one of those luscious sideways glances her way that she so adored. "I believe… that with the tiny pieces of cork within the substance, well, I'm fairly certain it is blackface makeup," he revealed, with an air of showmanship, he paused, secretly anticipating their gasps.

"Of course!" both Crabtree and Watts awed their rewards for him.

William held up his empty hand and squeezed it closed. He had grasped something significant, and he knew it.

 _Julia fought a smile of her own, noting the tiny curl of a smile on William's face, and with it that tight stiffness she knew in him, as he worked to hide his pride._

Subtly, William nodded, then, clearing his throat for emphasis, he stated, "The blackface makeup clue leads to the likelihood of the killer being WHITE rather than Negro… and," Murdoch considered more of the clues, "also likely male, because of the inherent difficulty in a woman pulling off a convincing imitation of a man's voice, particularly while the man she is meant to be in her performance is raging about in a drunken stupor wielding a baseball bat, threatening bodily injury to another." William knew he had discovered much more than this, and his back-and-forth pacing had slowed as he paused to organize his presentation in his mind.

The small break allowed time for this new information to sink in, and for the others to make connections to the other facts in the case they had gathered.

Still, all eyes remained on Murdoch.

He moved on, "This largely places Mr. Weist under suspicion as the killer," William named his prime suspect. _He would need to lay out his case… But… there was that niggling doubt again_ , " _Mr. Beau Jangles thought the killer was a woman,"_ it reminded. William dismissed the thought.

 _So far, so good._ William shrugged before he said, "It could be a case of two birds with one stone," and _the irony, the unexpected connections_ fire-crackered inside of his head – _the little wooden bird in his hand, and Mr. Beau Jangles' accentuating the resounding significance of Dunbar's poem about the caged bird singing, and his dream last night with the bird helplessly trying to free itself from the cage, and then William Jr.'s defending the baby birds_ , _and the bigger bullies throwing their rocks, and Father Clements sermon about the biblical heroes being jailbirds, and Julia describing all women's plight as being like being locked inside cages, and his fear that Julia would be arrested and put behind bars herself for conducting her IUD study_ and he was suddenly emotionally staggered, almost breathless, for a second, trying to keep up with himself.

 _He had stopped talking_ , he suddenly realized with a jolt.

"How so?" Watts asked.

William's brain chased, " _How so what?"_ The room waited. " _Too long! Too long!"_ one side of him warned. A more practical voice guided, " _You were about to offer Weist's motives, for both killing Mr. Williams and…"_

Watts leaned forward and pressed, "How is it like killing two birds with one stone?"

William thought to himself that _the younger detective looked puzzled_ , and then he figured, " _He probably is – because you are not presenting your point very well, William,"_ and then another part of him reminded that, " _It was hard to tell with Watts, though…"_

William began pacing again. He would spell it out, "It seems likely a motive for Weist to kill Ernie Williams has been suggested – to stop the victim's affair with his daughter, but Weist also had argued with Mr. Beau Jangles, who was demanding that Negroes need no longer perform in blackface, AND that Negro wages be raised to be more in line with those of the white performers in Mr. Weist's show, giving Weist ample reason to frame Mr. Beau Jangles for the murder."

Watts nodded, "The second bird."

"Yes," William answered, "Frame Mr. Beau Jangles and get Ernie Williams out of the way for his daughter to marry without scandal…" And then suddenly, _so frustrating_ , William hit another stumbling block head on, _"Oh yes – Deputy Minister King_ ," he thought to himself. That was enough, just the man's name, blended and writhed in his brain, and disruption intruded again, a flash of remembering _his nightmare – losing his badge, and then having those fears compounded by the headline in the Gazette this morning, this particular man, this KING, threatening to make the nightmare a reality…_ And he felt the _building of resentment inside of himself_ , and he reminded himself to _be better than that_.

It was Julia who spoke up. "Last night…" her hesitation was a small one brought on _by choosing what to call William,_ "Last night Detective Murdoch and I discussed the case…"

 _ **William watched on as she revealed what he was fairly sure the Inspector would not want to hear…**_

"Well," Julia straightened her skirts as she began, glanced to William, and then sat up tall and sure, "There is something that is not right with the Weist's daughter's engagement to King."

The Inspector felt a few of the hairs at the back of his neck begin to stand on end. "Doctor," there was warning in his tone, "Deputy Minister King would not be the first toff to marry below his station!" he charged, then tossed a hand up in the air and added, "Look at you and Murdoch!"

"Sir," William felt compelled to defend his wife – and himself, "When it comes to Deputy Minister King in this matter, I do think the man doth protest too much…"

"Protest too much!?" Brackenreid was turning red now. He stood and pounded both fists down onto his desk. "If you think Deputy Minister King is protesting too much now, with demanding your badge, Murdoch, how much more do you think he'll PROTEST if you try to involve him in this murder?!" he growled.

"If I may, sir," William had managed to hold his calm, "What Jul… What Dr. Ogden was trying to tell you about King's engagement to the Weist's daughter does NOT necessarily implicate him, personally, in any wrongdoing…"

Brackenreid breathed, an almost immediate lightening of both the air, and his crimson coloring.

Murdoch shrugged and then alluded, "Deputy Minister King is known to be, among some circles, N O T," William slowed his speech here, " _ **not**_ , all that interested in… ladies."

Oh, the Inspector understood immediately. "Deputy Minister King…? A pansy?" For a moment it seemed all was well, that the Inspector enjoyed being privy to such juicy gossip, but then those tingly hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end again…! His eyes narrowed, and he threatened, "Murdoch, this, THIS, best not get out, or he'll most surely have your badge… And he'll bloody well have MINE TOO!"

Calmly Julia answered, "Inspector, there is really no reason anyone has to know anything about Mackenzie King's… preferences…"

William interrupted, "We don't even know for certain if any of these rumors are true, about the daughter having a love affair with the victim."

Watts stepped forward and added excitedly, "We don't even know WHERE the daughter is," and then he looked about, and quieted, "Err, as she is said to be at this posh charm school in Birmingham, and yet, we now know that she is not."

It was quiet.

Minds moved.

And then William remembered his biggest problem. He cleared his throat, and rubbed his brow, and started to pace again, but was so troubled he just halted there and said it. "Maybe all of this is pointless conjecture, anyway. Mr. Weist has an ironclad alibi. Multiple witnesses say that he was at Papa's Poolroom ALL night on the night Ernie Williams was killed.

Crabtree spoke up. "These witnesses, sir…? They're men from Papa's?" he checked.

"They are," Murdoch gave.

"They could be lying, sir," Crabtree suggested.

Glances around the room showed the others agreed it was likely.

And then, _in light of remembering the beating that George and Mr. Beau Jangles had endured in the poolroom_ , the injuries on Constable George Crabtree's face suddenly took on a much more severe look.

"Perhaps we should bring them in for questioning," Watts suggested.

"Maybe one of them would crack?" Julia proposed, her eyes meeting those of her husband across the room.

"I don't know," Crabtree doubted, "There is that one horse-sized brute, Big Jim, who keeps them all in line for… err, well, for Mr. Weist. He is a rather scary character. The others cower from him…"

The Inspector spoke up, "Crabtree," he directed his query to George, "Can you think of any others that frequent the place… men who would not be under this 'Big Jim's' thumb."

"Well there were some women about…" he considered. "I'd just assumed they were all err, well, more like ladies of the night, but uh, there was one that seemed to be more friendly with Big Jim and his hooligan bunch. I never caught her name, but she tried to help me, I think… tried to distract Big Jim, to tempt away from escalating his harassment of me. Maybe she would… But I'd figure she might be loyal to Mr. Weist, as much as any of the others. You know, Mr. Weist wasn't there the night we went in… I uh, I guess I can't really say, sirs… sirs and Dr. Ogden."

"It's too bad your Nina Bloom isn't around anymore, Crabtree," the Inspector said. He thought it then, perhaps because he had remembered earlier that _Murdoch had sent the doctor in undercover to spy on those ladies on a basketball team…_

The Inspector hadn't realized where his eyes had landed, but he had led all the other men to join him in looking to Dr. Ogden.

The pressure, the being the center of attention, on the stage, as it were, it seemed to push Julia's thoughts in the right direction, and she suddenly had an idea. "I could go," she gasped, "I could go in as a doxy. Maybe this woman would be more likely to reveal holes in alibis to a woman in her same situation…?" she explained, and her brain rushed to _imagining what she would wear, and there was a sensation of adventure that tingled at her core…_

Her husband, however, was having the exact same, and the exact opposite, sensations. William too, had _imagined what she would wear, and what other men would feel seeing her dressed that way – in THAT role, and he felt an infernal itching, a fury, a sickening jealousy, that was both familiar to him and dangerously close to being out of his control. He outright abhorred the thought of men thinking of Julia in that way – abhorred it._ His fist curled tight, subconsciously, and he remembered _Darcy calling her a whore_ , and his teeth clenched, and he remembered _the explosive deliciousness of walloping the taller toff square in the teeth._

George's voice, slow, bordering on a whisper, turned to William as a side glance, "I believe it would be quite dangerous…"

"Much too dangerous, I would think," William felt a flood of relief. He cleared his throat and added, still a bit scratchy as he said it, "A new woman suddenly showing up… well it might make them suspicious, I'd think."

Crabtree considered aloud, "I can't go back – they'd recognize me."

Detective Watts added, "I interviewed the bartender, and all the men who provided Weist with his alibi…"

Julia leaned forward, her eyes glimmering with another idea, "Have any of the men at Papa's ever seen Detective Murdoch?" she asked.

The men shared glances, all shaking their heads 'no,' none thinking of an instance in which Murdoch had been within sight of any of Big Jim's bunch or any of the staff at Papa's.

"Well," she gleamed, "it turns out that our Detective Murdoch is a phenomenal billiards player," she told.

"Really now?" the Inspector replied, then clicking his tongue at his best man, he admired, "Hidden talents, hey, me ole mucker."

It was the blush on Murdoch's face that best revealed the truth to his wife's claim about his prowess on the billiards table.

Julia elaborated, "I'm sure the detective can play the game well enough to convince them all that he's familiar with such poolhalls. And, well, he can be quite a believable as **riffraff** ," she giggled at the implausibility of it, and yet she knew it to be so from all of the times in the past when William had done exactly that so very well. _And OH_ , even with just imagining it unfold, _how she wished she could be a fly on the wall and watch it all._

"Oh sir!" Crabtree exclaimed in Murdoch's direction, "You could say you are a friend of mine, come back to win back my money, sir…" George's face twisted and he found himself hoping, "Maybe you even COULD win back some of my money, sir – it was nearly a month's pay."

Everyone looked to Murdoch…

More still, Crabtree expanded, "Oh! Oh, yes…!"

All eyes jumped back to Crabtree. _He was on one of his rolls…_

George's eyes danced so with the fantasy unfolding in his mind, "I can see it. We should get the detective a two-piece custom-made pool cue, sir?" Crabtree suggested to the Inspector. "Err, so he would appear to be a professional, like Big Jim?"

"Don't be daft, Crabtree," the Inspector barked. "What do you think, the Constabulary is made out of money for your hair-brained ideas?"

Undeterred, George dreamed on, "Oh, I think you should be called 'Slick' or maybe 'Slim…" Yes, that's it, 'Slim' is a perfect nickname for you, sir."

"I'm not all that skinny, George," William took exception.

George crinkled his face in his own uniquely funny way and replied, "You are quite thin, and small, sir, compared to this 'Big Jim,'" the words out of his mouth, he instantly regretted it, for he had suddenly remembered that the detective was his superior.

Standing there, subtly lost in his _considering actually going undercover as this pool shark_ , William found his gaze down on the wooden bird he had pulled out of his pocket. With a sudden glance to George, he saw that George had joined him in looking there. The two men shared a look, in it _an agreed drive to see justice done_. The moment solidified William's resolve. _He would do this. He would find evidence that would fully exonerate Mr. Beau Jangles and put Ernie Williams' real killer behind bars. He would endeavor to disclose the truth._

Over on the small couch, Julia was also considering it in her mind, but her eyes had stalled on George Crabtree's battered face. Julia suddenly _wished she had never suggested the scheme. Clearly, the plan would be sending William into grave danger! Why hadn't she thought of that!_ Her jolt, her gasp, drew all the men's eyes to her. Nervously she smiled… gave William a quick glance. "Um, gentlemen…" she fought the embarrassment of having them see her more womanly, her wifely, concerns. "Perhaps my idea was a bit too hasty," she started, and the _world had the odd greying and smudging at its outer edges, the pressure moving in from the darkened shadows, impinging_. Julia swallowed and pressed on, "Well, of course, we must consider these men… um, these men that Wil… Detective Murdoch would be attempting to… _**trick**_ ," she felt her efforts in swaying the decision faltering, stopping her there in the middle of her sentence. _She would have to seek a compromise…_ "Perhaps…? Well, shouldn't we at least have a few other men there undercover… as other customers…?" she urged, "Um, to keep it safer?"

William felt the _pull at his heart, for her fears were real, and he knew it. Still, he was certain he would need to go alone… and he was certain it would be difficult to convince her that doing so was entirely necessary._ Unknowingly, he took to pacing, tucked the hand with the small bird carving back into his trousers' pocket. Everyone watched him as he reached up and rubbed at his brow, and then blew out a wind of pressure though his lips. His use of her given name, rather than her title, closing the gap between them, he said, "Julia, if other, NEW, UNKNOWN men besides myself show up on the _**same**_ night, it will only add to suspicion. It will put me at **more** risk of being discovered."

He did not look directly at her, but out of the corner of his eyes _he saw her sinking, dropping, lowering, just a little, her rally defeated._

He continued, _hoping not to allow all of the men's attention to cluster on her as she folded and she accepted what would happen_ , "At least I will have a reasonable explanation to show up, unknown," he reached one end of the office in his pacing and turned. "It will be believable that I, as 'Jack' and Mr. Beau Jangles' friend, have come to settle a score. It would make perfect sense that they would not know me. However, there would be no such reasons for any _**other**_ unfamiliar faces in the crowd." He stopped in front of her, and so charmingly wrinkled that corner of his mouth like he did when he apologized and admitted to something in one gesture. "Are we in agreement?" he asked plainly.

"Yes," she gave, returning the corner of the mouth wrinkle at him, for there was no denying her fears with the plan. The doctor sighed and said to the room, "I must admit, though, a part of me regrets ever suggesting it."

It was George who would try to comfort her, saying gently, "Your plan is truly a brilliant one, doctor…"

Julia looked into George's face. There was _an openness and trust between them that they both treasured._ "George," she said with another wrinkle at the corner of her mouth, and glanced away suddenly, having no words.

George strengthened and added, "And you must consider, doctor, that I did not know what I was walking into that night. Detective Murdoch does. He is ready for it… and prepared for Big Jim and his brutish ways. I was not."

The Inspector stood. "Doctor, your husband is quick. You know this as much as anyone in this room does. He's been in bigger, messier, spots than this one. He can handle it," he encouraged. The Yorkshire man managed to _push away, to hide from sight, from being detectible in his voice, that doubt that was always present when a policeman took a risk. He knew this doubt intimately. It could not be avoided. It needed to be overpowered by resourceful and efficient preparation and sturdy confidence._

Julia would _be a good sport, for she too had, many times in her life, played the same mental and emotional game with a similar doubt when facing risks to her own life, and even though her own personal battle had often been less physical, the risks had been by no means any less dangerous, with the threat of life imprisonment, or even the noose, always lurking in the background of possibilities. And further, for years now, ever since she had met William Murdoch, if the truth be told, she had been playing this same balancing act with her fears of losing him, as well._ She stood. "Yes, Inspector. I'm sure you are right."

William concluded the discussion of the matter there, moving on to another topic, "Mrs. Weist is coming in later for an interview. Detective Watts…"

The younger detective pitched his attention to Murdoch…

"You will need to pursue her about her husband's alibi, see if there is any indication that he that DID NOT stay at Papa's all night on the evening of the impersonation of Mr. Beau Jangles with the baseball bat and the killing," Murdoch directed. "Also, pressure her to explain why she and her husband lied about sending their daughter to that charm school in the States…" he added, "Oh, and about the street boy who delivered messages between herself and the victim." He changed his aim to George, thinking of another angle, "And constable, we will be needing more specifics about the Weist's daughter, hmm? We need to track down her whereabouts, preferably BEFORE Mrs. Weist's interview."

The Inspector had been caught by a thought. "Murdoch," he drew their attention, "I think it may be best if you interview the wifey…"

"But Detective Watts interviewed her husband so," Murdoch pushed back. "Watts would be more likely to catch any inconsistencies…" William wrinkled the corner of his mouth, doubting the strength of his own argument.

"Then the both of you interview her," the Inspector decreed impatiently. "Right now, the woman seems to be your most important witness. I would think you'd want to know where SHE was at the time of the murder…"

And that's when William darted towards the connection – his mind reminding that " _Mr. Beau Jangles had suspected a woman was the killer…"_

The Inspector had kept on, "She can tell you about her husband and about this mysterious daughter of theirs, and this whole bloody mess with the bloody toff Deputy Minister!" the raising of his voice coincided with the re-reddening of his face. " _Too bloody early for a scotch,"_ Thomas complained to himself in his head.

"Very good, sir," Murdoch agreed. And, with that, the group disbanded to get to work.

Julia accompanied William to his office. Unspoken between them, her suggesting the plan that now she regretted would risk his life. She reminded him that tomorrow was William Jr.'s first day of school. The wonder of it paused them there together for that one miniscule second, one of those that could feel it lasted an hour. He stepped closer, tenderly held her by her upper arms. "It is magnificent, is it not," he asked her, such twinkling and joy in his big brown eyes, "That we have been so fortunate."

She bowed to him and replied, "It is. It is."

)

Inspector Brackenreid's instincts had been right – the interview of Mrs. Weist unfolded to reveal MANY more significant clues because his best man, Detective Murdoch, was present and asking most of the questions and ultimately ended up driving the entire interview.

When asked where her daughter was, preliminarily Mrs. Weist held to their lie, that her daughter had been sent away to the very best finishing school available – "the Lady Jane Grey's Charm School in Birmingham, in the States."

"Such an expensive school," Murdoch led.

"Well, Adelaide is to marry a very important and dignified man…" Mrs. Weist answered.

Detective Watts inserted, revealing the Constabulary was already aware of the engagement, "Yes, Deputy Minister King."

Bouncing and bubbling in her seat, unable to hide her pride and exuberance at the thought of HER daughter marrying a man of such distinction, Mrs. Weist said, "Yes," and then explained, "Now, Mackenzie is a brilliant and quite wonderful man, but he is greatly in need of a wife who can be a hostess with the charm needed to balance against… Well, the man is a bit curt and sometimes so blunt he can be awkward…"

 _ **And both detective's in the room suddenly felt themselves to be akin to the man…**_

Mrs. Weist had gone on, "Adelaide's charm will be essential in substituting for her husband's… rather natural chill, when entertaining guests in their home, guests of the utmost stature."

"I see," Detective Murdoch replied, and then stood from his chair and began to pace, both hands in his trousers' pockets. He asked her, "Was it important to you that her fiancé knew that… Adelaide was in attendance at such a lavish school…? Perhaps, you and your husband wanted to convince Mr. King of your daughter's suitability as his wife?"

There was a huff from the woman in response, registering her insult. "You offend, detective," she complained.

Murdoch scratched at his brow as he paused his steps. "I apologize," he gave. "But, I was searching for a reason to explain why your daughter has never been enrolled at the school you claim she is attending," he revealed, to an inaudible gasp in the interview room, and outside as well, from the Inspector and Crabtree who looked on through the mesh.

Instantly, Mrs. Weist collapsed into tears. The policemen attempted to read her cues – _Embarrassment…? Betrayal…? Then it dawned – FEAR!_

Gallantly, Murdoch had magically produced a bright, white, handkerchief, seemingly before the first salty drop had trickled down the woman's cheek.

Through her sobs, Mrs. Weist told them that her daughter had gone missing. Suddenly so vulnerable and desperate, she begged them to help find her. She admitted that Adelaide appeared to have run away. Mrs. Weist held the last part in until the very last moment, for to this woman, a woman so desperate to be recognized among those of the upper classes, it was heartbreaking to admit that her daughter did not want to marry the Deputy Minister. She explained, eventually calming down, that Mr. King was in no way aware of Adelaide's reluctance to marry him, or that she had not gone to the Lady Jane Grey Charm School – that they had used that story to cover up Adelaide's being missing while they tried to find her. She produced from her purse, a photograph of her daughter for the Constabulary to use in trying to locate her.

As Mrs. Weist's gloved hand extended the shiny photograph to Detective Murdoch, _**IT HAPPENED…!**_

 _ **Whoosh, with such a spilling and whirling, William fell into that oddly shaded, shifted inner world of his remarkable brain, moving so fast, in so many directions, that it dizzied and sickened with its pace.**_

In the reflected light off of the photograph, William noticed a fingermark. _HE HAD SEEN THAT FINGERMARK BEFORE!_ the thought fired into his brain. Lightning speed down two different paths, the one to when _he was sitting with Julia and the children in the ice cream shop and his recognizing each of his children's fingermarks, thus impressing her by being able to identify the glass William Jr. and Katie had been fighting over as belonging to William Jr. and not Katie_ … the other path leading _also to a fingermark on glass – this fingermark on the bottle of whiskey that had been drugged with laudanum – the bottle of whiskey that had been used to drug Mr. Beau Jangles. "Of course, just as Mr. Beau Jangles had suspected – a woman! Mrs. Weist was part of the frame! She was the killer! No! No! She could have been an accomplice… to her husband, and Mr. Weist was the killer," as he had suspected. "Or even, she could have acted with the assistance of someone else, another man besides her husband, possibly, who dressed up and imitated Beau Jangles that night while she kept him out of the way, unconscious, till after the killing, to be left at the crime scene to be found by the Constabulary…!"_ He was getting closer, and his heart thumped and pounded in his chest with the excitement of it.

Being a cunning man, William decided in that moment, _"NOT yet," to arrest Mrs. Weist, "NOT yet," to reveal that he had figured out that she was guilty of, at the very least, aiding the killer. More evidence was needed…_

Detective Murdoch took the photograph and assured Mrs. Weist that the Constabulary would do everything in their power to find her daughter. He asked where she would be tonight so that they could contact her with any news.

She replied that both she and her husband would be at a special performance tonight, of their minstrel show.

" _Good news,"_ William thought to himself, reasoning that that _assured that Mr. Weist would not be at Papa's Poolroom tonight when he was to be there undercover as a pool grifter._

) (

Too late to have made it for supper, William came in the front door of their home with enough time to eat and change into his undercover pool hustler clothes, before saying goodnight to his children and heading out for the mission. A sweet smell of baking wafted through the house, filling his nostrils, and he _wondered after it, for he was certain Eloise would have gone for the night._

The children's excited footsteps splattered towards him down the hallway from the kitchen.

Joyful screeches of "Daddy…!" and "Daddy's home!" peppered through the air as they grew closer. William squatted down, waiting to receive their onrush in his waiting arms.

With happy hugs and kisses and squeezes, William declared, "Mm-mm, something sure smells good…"

Julia appeared, and his big, sparkly brown eyes looked up at her from where he was knelt down, surrounded by their children. He almost laughed at the sight of her, _so unexpected – Dr. Julia Ogden in an apron with a smudge of flour on her cheek, and quite a bit of it dusted into her hair_.

"We've been baking," she told him, "I was thinking it would be nice if William Jr. could take some cookies with him to his first day of school."

"And I see you are all **wearing** much of these cookies," he teased, glancing to each child. William stood and moved towards his wife with every intention of scooping her into his arms and giving her a delightful kiss.

Julia's hands shot up into the air, stopping him. "William, I'm covered in cookie dough!" she squeaked, backing away from him, shaking her head.

 _ **Oh, there was such a whiff of play in the air…**_

And William's expression told that he had detected it, and he would not be deterred.

Still backing away, Julia explained, _secretly wishing he would continue his advance_ , "It will get all over your…"

And then Julia's eyes dropped down to indicate, what every single one of them, even little Chelsea, expected would be William Henry Murdoch's perfect, always perfectly immaculately clean and trim, suit.

William's eyes, all three of the children's eyes, followed her glance. And, in complete opposition to what was the common sight of him, William's suit was a cookie-baking disaster, a white-powdered mess, covered with distinct little handprints and various smudges all about…

And Julia thought to herself, " _Knowing William, he could probably identify which child had made each and every one of those marks – and in which order."_ And the humor of the thought made her giggle.

And the children caught the fun and began to giggle too.

"Oh…!" William teased, feigning upset, "You think this is funny, do you?"

She giggled more, and she nodded with a shrug, "A bit."

And William held her eye as he stepped closer and she resumed her backwards retreat. "Well, as my suit is already headed to the cleaners, I do believe I'd like to collect my kiss," he warned…

And there was the slightest flinch, _no one could tell who from_ , before Julia turned and bolted for the kitchen, and William charged off after her, and the children flooded behind with their pitter-patters and screams of glee.

In the kitchen, Julia placing the kitchen table between William and his prey, and each of them playing that little cat-and-mouse game of left… and right… and then left again, he threatened, "I will be getting you. You do know that, you cookie monster, you?"

"Run Mommy!" the children cheered their mother on, as they bounced about, and they shrieked and squealed with the fun.

Now Julia Ogden was fast, but William Murdoch was faster, and her destiny was decided the moment she committed to a direction…

He swooped her up and gave her the softest twirl, before placing her feet back down on the ground, and then he looked into her big blue eyes, with her peaches and cream skin, and her flooringly beautiful face, and he _felt his knees grow weak,_ and so very romantically, winsomely, he kissed her, _dizzying and soaring and gushing her world._

 _ **It seemed the world was stuck for a moment, the children caught in seeing their parents' so in love, the memories of their father sleeping, night after night, on the couch, not so very far away. The beauty of it glowed and seared down into the memory.**_

DING! the sound of the timer rang, and with it the air grew heavier, gravity pulling them all down to the reality of the ground.

"It dinged Mommy!" Katie declared.

"More cookies!" Chelsea gleed, hopping in place with the excitement of it all.

Despite having chased Julia all around this kitchen only seconds ago, it seemed that this was the moment when William first took in the sight of it. He figured _there was not a pan or a bowl in the house that wasn't out on either the kitchen table or a countertop. And a part of him thought that their kitchen looked quite a bit like his suit!_

"Well," Julia said to her little ones, still catching her breath, "This last batch needs to come out." She stepped to the oven, wiping her hands on her apron. "Now, where are those potholders?" she asked.

"Here! Here they are Mommy," William Jr. rushed to be the one to find them.

Julia allowed William Jr. the honor of using the spatula to remove each cookie from the tray and place it on the last plate. Barely able to contain his anticipation, William Jr. told his father, "Mommy said I could bring enough cookies to school tomorrow to share with the whole class – even my teacher!"

"I'm sure they'll all love that," William said, but truth be told, he _worried secretly to himself that Julia's cooking might leave a bit to be desired. But then, he grasped that it would not matter_ , for he knew as he looked into his son's happy face, _that this little boy was overjoyed._ And William spotted then that _the black marks under his young son's eyes, from when the bullies had punched him as he defended the baby birds, had darkened, but also that the black lines had also thinned over the past half of a week, making them less noticeable._ And he thought to himself _that the cookies would act as a deflection, as a distraction,_ _helping William Jr. feel more comfortable and also to help him make friends._ And he thought to himself then _that Julia Ogden never ceased to amaze him._ And he felt himself overflow with emotions, _it was HIS son's first day of school... HIS and JULIA's son's first day of school_. It was astounding, and so much more than he ever could have hoped for, and in his heart, there was that profound gratitude that came with knowing you are living a meaningful life. A deep breath, William turned and perused the kitchen once more.

 _ **Now there was no lack of cookies – plates and plates full, to be exact. But what seemed to be in even more demand than all those delicious cookies were the big bowls full of cookie batter.**_

It turned out that this last cookie bowl was meant to be Katie's, with both Chelsea and William Jr. each having already licked the first two cookie bowls completely clean.

Before handing the big bowl to Katie, Julia suggested Katie let her father have some of the batter too…

"No," the little five-year old answered immediately, reaching up for the treat, "It's mine. You promised."

Julia held the bowl back and reminded, "Yes, I did say that you could have it, but it is also the biggest of all the bowls… and that means there is more batter for you to share," she reasoned.

"No," Katie made a bigger effort to reach the bowl up in her mother's hands, "You said I could have the last cookie bowl for me…"

"Yes, but that was before your Daddy came home," Julia explained.

William interrupted, trying to help, "Julia… I really don't…"

"No William," Julia asserted, "She needs to learn not to be so selfish…"

 _ **Now, there might have been about one tenth of a second to stop what happened next, but…**_

Katie's face reddened and crinkled up, and her lungs sucked in as much air as possible, and all eyes turned to face her, each and every one of the Murdoch's knowing exactly what would happen next – William Jr. even rushing to plug up his ears with his index fingers before…

Katie Murdoch exploded into a full-fledged temper tantrum, bawling out her anger at the unfairness and the injustice that had been done to her. Her face so crimson that any parent would have worried that she was in danger of harming herself with the lack of oxygen. "You said it was mine! I want the cookie bowl!" she whined and bellowed and stormed against the cruelty, "It's mine! You said it was for me!" she torrented as tears gushed out of her, "You promised!"

Handing the cookie bowl to William, Julia squatted down to try to calm her, her voice amazingly steady, she tried, "Little One, I just want you to share a little. Your Daddy worked hard all day. Don't you want to be nice to your Daddy?"

Katie's face wrinkled into a mushed up mess, only her lower jaw pulling down to show a flash of her seething teeth, and _for a second she considered throwing herself on the ground and flailing about_ , but instead she stomped her foot with as much of a stomp as any little five-year old ever did, ever, in the whole wide world, and she simply SCREAMED… she screamed as loud as she could until her lungs ran out of air, and then she inhaled and yelled, "It isn't fair!" before she fell apart and bolted out of the room, her feet stomping out the long trail to her bedroom, all the way up the stairs.

Standing next to William, Julia said to him, "She falls apart at the drop of a hat, sometimes, that one."

Her husband's face lightened, drawing her curiosity. Almost bashfully, he shrugged, as a warning that he was about to tease her.

"It can be quite disconcerting – dropping your hat," he leaned to her and said with a twinkle.

Gratefully, Julia smiled and then bumped her shoulder against his. "You and that hat of yours, detective – thoroughly insufferable," she chuckled.

"I do care for my hat," he admitted with a winsome wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

Upstairs, that little girl of theirs slammed that bedroom door with a humungous thud that reverberated through the entire house.

"I'll go," William volunteered, his heart registering now its aching for Katie.

"Let me," Julia requested. "I'm the one who broke my promise," she too felt the hurt as it would be seen through such a young one's eyes. "And she's been so terribly jealous of William Jr. going off to start school…"

Wisely, William turned to the other two children as his wife left to care for their third one, "Perhaps we should each test one of the cookies…!" he offered to a round of happy cheers.

)

By the time Julia opened the girls' bedroom door and came to sit on Katie's small bed next to her, it seemed any hint of anger had all but dissipated. _Oh my, but the way the child sobbed into her pillow, as if trying to drown out the sound from others hearing it, as if she had to bear the unbearable while being utterly alone in the world, it simply ruptured Julia Ogden's heart into two._

She pulled the child into her lap and let those smoldering tears smother into her warm soft bosom instead, and she held her, and she rocked her, and she said she was sorry that it hurt her so badly, and that she needed to breathe, "Nice and deep. Just breathe, sweetie, hmm?" she said, said it as a soft whisper into Katie's little ear. "Shh," she soothed her. Julia took another slow, deep, breath and said, "Let's try counting to ten… like Daddy and William Jr. did. Remember, in the park, when William Jr. was so upset…?"

And Katie nodded against her chest, and a ray of hope trickled in. Julia gave her a kiss, and stroked at her silky hair, and then she leaned back and opened Katie's hot face to the cool breeze. Wiping at the little one's tears, she tried to catch her eyes. _My God, those eyes were so big they tugged at her very core_. "Let's try," she encouraged. "One..."

Katie's little voice joined in weakly.

"Two," the number was stronger.

By the time they had reached five, Katie's tears had dried up, and the little one swiped the remaining wetness away from her cheeks on her own.

In her heart, Julia understood the suffering. This beautiful child had withstood more heartache in her tiny life than many adults ever would in a lifetime. The crux of it had come at the very moment when they had first met her, William and Julia there at the orphanage in Nova Scotia, unknowingly, to take the only person left in the world from her, to take her little sister Chelsea away, to leave Katie there alone in that orphanage, alone, forever. So many reasons to feel insecure, to believe she was unlovable. And Julia herself felt overwrought, the wave taking her by surprise. She held Katie's face in both hands as she told her, "No matter what, no matter what you ever do, even if it isn't nice, I promise you, Little One, Daddy and I will always, always love you." She smiled, and nodded and said, "You are the best thing that ever happened to us, Katie… You and Chelsea and William Jr., and we are going to love you forever, no matter what."

Wiping at her eyes, Katie asked her, "Do you promise Mommy?"

And Julia's face beamed with love for this innocent child who had weathered so much. "I promise the biggest promise ever," Julia vowed. She smiled, and took another breath, and waited for Katie to breathe too.

A short while later, Julia said, as she stood, lifting Katie with her. "Now," she turned to look to the door, "I believe your Daddy will have left ALL the cookie batter in your bowl for you. Shall we go see?"

Katie nodded.

 _ **Oh, and Julia hoped, and wished, the little child would be wise enough to catch the chance…**_

And Katie stretched to reach her lips close to her Mommy's ear and she whispered "Daddy can have some. I don't mind."

And Julia couldn't help but squeeze her tight and say, "Oh my! You are going to make your Daddy so happy," and her heart ruptured with love when that beautiful little girl smiled back, for she knew Katie felt it, the inherent beauty in being generous.

She leaned down and let Katie step to the floor. The child reached for her hand.

"I love you Mommy," Katie said as they walked together.

"I love you more," Julia assured.

)

 _Ready_ , dressed as a lowlife pool-shark, William paused with leaving his, _now battered with wear_ , metal shield-shaped badge resting on the top of his dresser, and then headed down the stairs. " _Perhaps_ ," he thought to himself, " _this next part would be the hardest."_

Julia and the children were in the living room, partaking in one of their treasured family traditions, the sharing of reading a fairytale while indulging in some hot chocolate, before the children were tucked into their cozy beds. He could tell, as he listened in, _that this tale was about knights and princesses and fire-breathing dragons, and such_. As he came before them all, cuddled together on the couch, the story stopped, and all eyes turned to him.

Julia glanced to each of the children, eyes glowing with adventure, and told, "Your Daddy is going out on a quest tonight to slay a dragon, of sorts, himself."

"A real dragon!?" William Jr. excitedly asked.

"The sort of dragon that torments the real world," his mother clarified. "In the real world, most dragons are men," she explained further, _letting the reflections on that truth sink down deeper into her own mind._

Katie's worried-child eyes poured into William's as she fretted, "But you don't have a suit of amm… arr… arm-or?"

"Or a sword?!" William Jr. added the apparently missing, and highly essential item, to his adored father's plight.

William squatted down, intending to reassure. "I have to sneak up on this… dragon," his eyes moved from child to child, "I have to look like one of his men… to pretend to be one of them to get clo…"

Little, tiny Chelsea cried out, "Dwagon haves fire…!?"

"The dragon could burn you up, Daddy?!" Katie's terrifying words flew out into the world, and the _charred images from so many stories she had heard over her short years flooded into her head – images of the suddenly-skeletonized trees, and bushes, and birds in mid-flight, remaining behind after being 'breathed on' by an evil dragon. Each time, the scorched remnants would hover weightless for a moment, before the blackened ashes simply dropped down to become part of the earth._ Every part of her little body fought against seeing those scary things AND seeing her father, together, in the same scene in her mind.

William and Julia both rushed to ease their children's fears…

But William had been knocked off balance, just for a second, for his own mind had conjured up an associated memory and it had captured him within that _disturbing moment when he had first laid eyes upon the charred body of Ernie Williams, in the ground-level window of the coal-chute behind the Tipsy Ferret, and he had felt so unsettled by the excruciating suffering the contorted position of the body revealed – left there, fetally curled, as if to protect what was most sensitive, its charred fingers clenched into fists. A failed effort at defense…_

Julia's words calmed, the book now dropped aside, her hands warm and soothing to little cheeks, "Now you children know there is no such thing as a REAL dragon," she pulled Chelsea deeper into her lap, tenderly kissed down at the child's curls.

William, too, leaned in closer. "The man I seek to catch will most likely never know I was even there," he smiled. The quickest of glances to Julia, his heart to hers with that subtle visual touch – shared wishing, and knowing, and most of all loving – the loving of these beautiful children, this simple caress making the significance of the moment seem to magnify into a vibrant hum.

Julia's deep breath signaled the gathering of her strength, as she shifted Chelsea off of her lap to place the child next to her bigger sister. She straightened her skirts and said, "Your father is as brave and gallant and strong and smart as any knight there ever was, and a kiss and a hug from each of his beloved children to take with him on his quest will only make him even stronger."

As if her words had cast a magic spell into the wind, all three children jumped off of the couch and into William's arms, wishing to contribute their part to its magical powers.

"Now," Julia stood, "William Jr., could you please tell the story…" she opened the book to a few pages prior to those she had most recently read to them, placing it in the young boy's lap, and pointed, and then continued her instructions, "Tell what you know with the pictures." She looked into her son's brown eyes, _struck in this one moment, like so many others_ , she remembered _, by the Williaminess of them._ She gave him a nod, and her son nodded back.

"Yes Mommy," William Jr. said soberly, so wise for one so young, he had felt the importance of his task, and he knew he had to be brave. The boy glanced at his two sisters, catching the eye of each before he turned to the book. "The dragon lived in this cave," he pointed and told.

And Julia tucked her arm into William's, and the parents headed to the threshold between out and in.

Paused before the front door, Julia worked to talk herself _out of voicing… re-voicing, her concerns…_

 _ **Oh, but William could see her worry in her eyes.**_

"Julia…" his tone melted her down the marrow of her bones.

She reached up and straightened the collar of the plain white shirt he wore, then slipped down to fuss with the edges of his brown suede jacket, and memories flared inside of her head of _how many times she had seen him wearing this when he was in such trouble._ " _Perhaps that's it?"_ a part of her mind offered her associations with _these particular clothes_ in dismissing the ominous feelings that pulsed through her veins.

He watched as she made herself strong. Try as he might, _he could not catch her eye._

She spoke, her voice as steady as she could muster, her focus seemingly busy with his collars, "You WILL be careful, won't you?"

"I will," he answered her simply. Then he thought to remind her, "Watts and Crabtree and four constables will be waiting right by the phone…" But once the words were between them, he realized that he was about to do exactly what had most frightened her for years now, his going into danger – going into danger **alone**. And all he could offer her was his wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, as he touched his fingers under her chin, and he lifted her face to bring their eyes to meet.

Unsaid between them – _I love you. I love you forever._

William leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, slow and gentle, a breath of her into him, and then he turned and took his leave. He closed the door behind him, sparing her from having to stand there helpless and watch him walk away.

Away from the house, a deep breath, he picked up the pace, his mind running through his plans for what he would need to do. His was no imaginary quixotic quest of the ilk of tilting at windmills, as if he were some knightly Don Quixote Man of La Mancha. No, for when sneaking into the real-world equivalent of a dragon's lair, one must be fully focused, well-prepared, and, too, highly alert to any need to adapt. There was **much** at risk.

) (

William had left his scruffy five-o'clock shadow on his jawline, adding to his rougher look. Gratefully, he had grown accustomed to his undercover brown suede hat and his brown suede jacket, and he felt himself sinking into the role once again. Still, he paused outside of the door into Papa's Poolroom and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the job at hand. In his head William reminded himself, " _You're a pool-shark by the name of 'Slim' who has come to settle a score for your good friends Jack and Mr. Beau Jangles_ , _with a big bully named 'Jim.' You're tough, and you're slick, and this Big Jim – he's in for a load of trouble because of you…_ " and then William pushed solidly at the door.

Seeing the racehorse betting counters to the front of the establishment, and in the center an impressively large bar, with rows and rows of liquor bottles stacked up behind it, he toured his eyes around, suddenly worrying that there weren't actually any billiards tables in the place as he had expected. " _Towards the back_ ," he spotted a wide entryway to what appeared to be a more private backroom. " _There,_ " he thought as he nodded at the bartender but moved on past without ordering a drink. _Slim was meant to be here on a mission, and he was getting right to it._

There was a small gang of tough-looking men huddled about near the entrance to the guarded room. A glance into the background showed William that there were a few billiards tables inside, cloaked in murky cigarette smoke, none of which were being used.

He spoke right up, "I'm a south Alabama country boy, and I'm lookin' for a man named Jim. I'm a pool shootin' boy, name of Willie McCoy, but down home they call me Slim. Yeah, I'm lookin' for this 'Jim' of Papa's Bar. He's been givin' lots of folks some whacks. Jim took my friends' money, and it may sound funny, but I come to get their money back."

 _Oh, no. No…_ All the tough-guys shook their heads at him.

And all the bad men said, "HACK! Ya don't tug an emperor's cape. Ya don't spit into the wind. Ya don't pull the mask off that old bank-robber. And ya don't mess around with Jim."

 _Mm-hmm, hmm, mm-hmmm, hmm, hmm, hmm,_ the small gang nodded at him. They told Slim he was lucky, "because Big Jim wasn't here yet, and he had best take his leave while he could."

"I won't be doing that," William said. He shoved past them and headed straight for the pool tables. Behind him, he sensed the crowd watching, and this bunch of men that George had told him about hung together and followed along.

A selection of pool sticks hung on the wall, and William went over to choose one. " _Pick the straightest one_ ," he told himself, " _Straight and long."_

A woman's voice surprised him, _a female not expected, and she was quite close_. "You must be very brave," she whispered to him.

He glanced at her and then went back to choosing his stick. Bashfully, he shrugged.

"Delores," she said. "I hear you're Slim… that right?" she pressed closer to him.

She smelled _over-flowery_ , and William felt himself begin to feel _guilty towards Julia, for he sensed what was coming._

William cleared his throat. "It's nice to meet you, Delores," he replied. William swallowed, and then thought to _use his inspection of the pool sticks as a way to give himself more space_ , so he turned away from the woman and stretched one of the longer sticks out in front of himself, leaning down to consider its rather noticeable curve.

Delores was not deterred, and she stepped in close to his side. "Big Jim has a two-piece custom-made pool cue," she said. Her eyes dropped down to William's crotch, and she said, _dripping with sexual connotation_ , "But it seems you come well-equipped yourself, Slim."

William's ears began to _hum with the discomfort, and he tried with all his might not to blush. His mind felt suddenly slow, and he needed it to be fast. He hadn't planned on THIS particular problem, and he really needed to shake this off._ " _Get back to the case, William!"_ his brain scolded him.

"You know Big Jim well, then?" he asked her. For the first time he really looked at her. _Delores was quite pretty… unfortunately_. " _The case, William_ ," he heard the reminder…

"Everybody knows Big Jim…, Slim," Delores said. She stepped VERY close, _so close he could feel her breath on his face. She was shorter than Julia,_ and she had to stand on her tippy-toes, despite wearing heels, to reach his ear. She whispered, "You should let me save you…" and Delores dared slide her hands up William's chest. The contours of his rather well-built muscles were not fully expected, and she moaned with the delightful discovery. "You are quite nice," she purred into his ear. "The men here would be impressed if you left with me," she nibbled at his ear.

William pushed back. "I will not be doing that," he said. William took a deep breath, and he held sternly to the woman's eyes. "I came here to get my friends' money back, and it's Big Jim who took it from them, and so it's Big Jim I'll be waiting for." He went back to selecting a pool stick.

"Who are these friends you care so much about…" she asked, but then hesitated before she said his name again, "…Slim?"

 _The hesitation, the way Delores had said it, flared an alert_ inside of him. He worried _she might know he was not who he pretended to be. "Just play the game,"_ the inside voice advised him, working to focus his efforts back onto the billiards tables. " _Play the game, and you'd best play it well if you're going to pull this off."_ William took the stick at hand and turned confidently to face Big Jim's cronies.

"Anybody looking to part with their money?" he asked cockily.

The red-haired older man stood up, taking the challenge.

If William had figured it right, _this man was probably the better player of the bunch of them._ He blew out the pressure. _He would need to win, and win big. And he'd best do it BEFORE Big Jim arrived._

The first shot William took, having to wait three balls after the break before 'Rusty' missed, was one of his favorites, a bank shot. The whole poolroom gasped when Slim made the difficult shot. _This guy was good!_

Actually, William never gave Rusty another chance to shoot, _'running the table'_ his first time out.

Rusty handed over the money.

Slim turned to the others. "Well…?" he taunted.

 _ **Well a hush fell over the pool room when Big Jim come in off the street. Now the thug was challenged to quite a match, but all Jim'd get would be defeat…**_

As expected, Big Jim pulled out his two-piece custom-made pool cue, and he cheated, and he cheated in many different ways. But William Murdoch was a smart man, and he knew not to appeal to Big Jim's cronies for justice. _No, he would have to beat this thug at his own game_. And deep inside William was _thrilled, because it turned out that Julia was right – he was really, really good at this game._

William, William as Slim, won the first game between himself and Big Jim…

But then Big Jim claimed that he hadn't, because "those highfalutin' bank shots n' such ain't no good here."

William considered pointing out that _Big Jim, himself, had taken two bank shots – and missed, but he thought better of it. Better to pretend to accept defeat_ , he reminded himself, " _You're not here to win – You're here to break alibis… Eye on the ball, William"_ he chuckled at himself, for he had thought to himself that _Julia would have liked the pun._

"An honorable man would give me a chance to win my money back," Slim said, pulling a large bundle of bills out of his pocket. The small wooden carving of the bird he had kept in his pocket had come out with the money. William looked about and explained, "For good luck," with a modest chuckle.

Delores stepped in between the two men. She suspected there _might be some trouble. Men like Big Jim would just as soon rob the man as play him for it. And… well, that was quite a BIG WAD of money Slim seemed to have…_

"Gentlemen," the sole woman in the establishment said.

And the whole joint held its breath.

Delores turned her flirting to Big Jim, her delicate hands sliding all over the large man's hunky muscles. "Big Jim," her red-painted lips dangled just barely up to the man's shirt collar as she stood on her toes, "Why not take Slim here for a little ride here, hmm? Give him another game. He comes from down south… he's friends with that Negro, Beau Jangles, and his friend Jack…"

"Beau Jangles!" Big Jim's jaw clenched tight. Now that seemed to fuel some anger, and Big Jim shoved Delores aside. He pressed close to William, _and he was imposing, the man's bulging chest just about at jaw level_. "You don't pick very good friends, now, do ya Slim?" he glared down at William.

William looked around at the men watching on and insulted, "Takes one to know one, I'd say."

Prompting all the other men to curl their fists and surge forward.

Big Jim stopped them, just by raising his hand up in the air. "It's alright boys," he said, still scowling down at William, "We'll show this little country boy how it's done here in Toronto."

Big Jim grabbed the whole wad of money out of William's hand and said, accepting the challenge of another game, "No bank shots, and winner breaks, and that's me." He almost stepped away, but then thought better of it. "I'll have that good luck charm of yours too, I think," he goaded.

William handed it over. "Very good," William said. _Refusing to step back, knowing it would show weakness, he held his ground and waited for Big Jim to be the one to step back._

His plan worked, and the big man took a step backwards.

William looked down at his money clenched in Big Jim's hand and said, "You seem to have all my money… for the wager…" William looked out to the crowd. Cocky, he said, "Perhaps you could buy a man a drink then?"

Big Jim handed one of his cronies a few of William's bills and told them to, "buy everybody a drink – make sure it's top shelf." He tucked the rest of the money and the little wooden bird into his pocket and then opened an arm to Delores, who quickly dove into position with her arms around his tree-stump-thick neck.

While Delores flirted, and jiggled, and wiggled, and kissed at Big Jim, William turned to making the rack of balls Big Jim would break to start their pinnacle match. He spoke with Rusty as he did so, thinking he may have befriended the man somewhat with their having shared a game. Now, William was _unsure as to whether what he planned to do with the rack would be considered to be cheating at playing billiards or not, but he certainly wasn't going to ask, and he was taking this opportunity with Big Jim being distracted to do it. Further, he really did need to question some of these men, and now that it had been made known that he was a friend of Mr. Beau Jangles, he had a way to do it._

A quick glance to Rusty, William said, "I'm surprised they even let Mr. Beau Jangles back in here the other night…" He placed the triangle-shaped frame of wood down flat on the billiards table and began to place all the colored and striped balls into it. He held to Rusty's eyes, _hoping the man would not watch what he was doing down on the billiards table too closely._ "I mean, I heard it was Beau Jangles who came all wild and mad-like at this place the other night, weren't it? I heard he broke up the place with a baseball bat…" William carried on the casual conversation as he set up his cheat – _balls loosely packed inside the rack so they would not spread out when hit, and the entire rack rotated off of center so none of the balls would be aimed at any of the pockets._ "Weren't that the night that that other Negro got killed?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rusty replied, "Ernie Williams."

"Were you here that night?" William pushed, _pretending he wasn't done racking the balls, forcing his breathing to remain constant, his heart not to race, because he was stepping close to the fire now, for he risked being discovered as a fake by going so directly at this line of questioning_. He dared add, looking away now _as if uninterested,_ "You and all the others?"

"We's here pretty much every night," Rusty answered.

 _Whew,_ William took a breath – _here came the big one…_

"How about any toff-like fellas. I mean I hear sometimes there's a minstrel show owner comes in and plays the tables," William coaxed, as he glanced to Rusty.

"You mean Mr. Weist," Rusty gave.

Rusty stepped up next to William and put a toothpick in his teeth.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be checking William's racking job. " _The case, William, the case…"_ William's brain fired down two parallel lines, the one _planning the wording of his next question_ , the other hoping that Rusty _**would notice**_ the one, simple, and intentional mistake he had made with the rack to distract attention from his cheats… William made himself _**stare at the 'trick' ball.**_

"You didn't put the eight ball in the center, there Slim," Rusty said.

"Oh… Oh, sorry bout that," William rushed to exchange the center ball with the eight ball so that Rusty would stop his inspection there. Balls in the correct positions, he lifted the triangle rack away from his masterfully-created and cheatingly-packed _(probably)_ rack of balls, and then hung it back in its spot on the hook on the side of the table. Retrieving his pool stick, and then placing its bottom end firmly down into the floor, as if he had planted a flag, William looked Rusty square in the face. "This Mr. Weist had quite a beef with Mr. Beau Jangles, I hear. There's tell the toff even ran and hid in the bathroom when Beau Jangles showed up here with that bat…"

Rusty leaned close and chuckled, "That he did. Stayed in there for near an hour!" Rusty scoffed at the big boss' show of weakness.

"An hour?!" William whispered, his eyebrow peaked upwards.

"Probably even more," Rusty said, clearly enjoying the gossip.

"Was Mr. Williams still here then?" William really risked asking.

"Mr. Williams?" Rusty wondered.

"Remember…?" William suddenly sensed the need to rush, "Ernie Williams, the Negro who got himself killed… Was he still here when Weist was hiding in the bathroom?" William had _gone this far, he figured he might as well press on._ With a jolt, he spotted two of the men heading back, hands full of drinks. A glance to Big Jim. Delores was in his lap now. _Wham,_ a memory fired of _Julia in HIS lap last night, because 'the urge just took her.' Amazing the zing he felt to his groin, so quickly, with just the mere thought of his being so sideswipingly besotted by his wife._ William took a breath and pushed further with Rusty, "He was Beau Jangles dance partner… the other Negro in the act… At Mr. Weist's show…?"

Rusty scratched at his head and clamped down harder on his toothpick, chewing it and making it bounce about distractingly at the corner of his mouth. "The other Negro fella was in here that night… early like," Rusty remembered, "But he was gone before Mr. Beau Jangles showed up outside all crazy like that. Some kid come in off the street with a note for 'im. They don't usually let no street boys in here…"

William turned to face the men with the drinks. "What have you there, gentlemen?" he asked, secretly taking a breath of relief. _He had accomplished much,_ his mind rushed behind his smile _, "maybe it was the same street boy who had delivered notes for Weist's daughter, and later Mrs. Weist…? No time to think about it now…"_

"For you, Slim, we got you a beer," one of the men replied. Slim eyed up all the other drinks. _They looked to be much more expensive than beers… doubles of scotches and such._

"We figured you wouldn't mind treatin' us all to our favorites, now, would ya, Slim," Big Jim managed to remove his lips from Delores' in order to flaunt his rudeness and power.

"I don't mind," William replied, taking his beer, _playing at being a good sport._ He braced himself against the awful taste of the bitter hops and made himself chug down quite a bit of it, _all manly like_. His nerves threatened in his gut, for it was time to begin the match and he was dreading the thought that Big Jim would catch his attempt at tricking him so soon in the game. _"Wait, William. Wait,"_ his inner-voice coached, " _Don't be the one to push for the game. Let him be the one…"_

Big Jim made a show out of how delicious his big, expensive high-end scotch tasted, and he insisted Delores was satisfied with her red wine before he even looked William's way. "Well, pretty lady," he said turning his eyes to dance with those of Delores, "You'd best let a man earn his money," he said. _So crude, the way he reached in between her legs to turn her off of his lap._ Slow-like, he let his fingers slip upwards before he pushed her aside. "I'll be back, don't you worry your little heart none," he said before he stood. Another chug at his drink, bottoming it, he slapped it down and ordered one of the men to, "Go spend more of Slim here's money, won't ya," and then he turned and glared a dominating look into William's eyes.

William held fast and replied, "I figure I'll be winning it back and more, Jim," he smiled politely, making sure not to be the first to look away, not even to urge the man to the pool table.

Big Jim extended his hand to receive his two-piece custom-made pool cue from one of his cronies, his eyes piercing into William's the whole time. "We'll be seein' bout that… Slim," he said and then eyed William up-and-down. Big Jim chuckled, "Slim," he mocked, "They'd been better off to call you 'Puny' in my opinion."

William's eyes dropped to the floor, feigning deference.

Big Jim strutted up to the billiards table. He bent himself forward and lined up the white cue ball to hit just right at the juncture of the lead ball and the ball next to it…

Perfect!

Big Jim bashed William's racked balls with all his might, and not one ball sunk into a pocket.

 _ **Now, this infuriated Big Jim on multiple counts. First, he hadn't come up empty on a break in probably over ten years. And second, he had just figured out that this slimy Slim character had cheated. And third, he wasn't going to be able to get away with changing this particular rule – because everybody knew a break that came up empty meant the opponent was up.**_

William managed not to grin with glee. He stepped up to begin to shoot immediately, thinking it would stop Big Jim from coming up with a way to claim it wasn't his turn fair and square. He really didn't have time to plan it out, so he had to make quick decisions. Not relying on ANY bank shots, he mapped out all the connections he needed to run the table. This first shot would be the hardest, the target ball only an inch from the cue ball but miles away from the intended pocket. "Two-ball in the right corner pocket," William called his shot.

So softly the firm tap of the white and blue balls touching, breathless long roll… _dunk_ , in near silence the two-ball dropped out of sight. Slim would be playing solids.

For the second time that night, William ran the table. _He reminded himself not to gloat_. Slim reached up and rubbed at his brow. _It was time to collect the money…_

It was Delores who braved it. "Well Jim…?" she wiggled sexy at him, "Fair's fair," she said. The attractive woman stepped close to Big Jim and whispered something to him.

William thought he saw the slightest softening of the man's rigid, clamped jaw.

"Delores wants to play," Big Jim said. "And Delores only plays with me," he decreed the rules everyone else in Papa's Poolroom already knew. "You'll be forfeiting the table then, Slim," he ordered.

William remembered _how utterly, brain-spinningly, gorgeous Julia had looked in the various positions she took while making shots bent over that pool table that night at the Fenwick's dinner party_. _Knowing this Delores as he thought he did, the voluptuous woman would likely take full advantage of bringing these men to their knees with her 'playing.' It would afford him more opportunity to question others… and possibly to even get away to inspect the back bathroom where Mr. Weist had supposedly spent over an hour on the night of the murder… Actually, this was perfect! "But! But! Remember you're playing the role of an intelligent thug,"_ he inwardly laughed at his notion of his current fake character as being _exactly what Julia had told him women – SOME women, found attractive in a man – because of Darwin, and evolution… "The case, William! The case,"_ his brain barked at him.

William cleared his throat and said, "I believe I would quite enjoy watching such a lovely woman take her shots." William allowed himself the pleasure of taking his turn at ogling Delores' curvy body, up-and-down, to be sure that everyone watching got his intended ' _drift_.'

"Still," William said, as Slim, needing not to cower from his rival, "There is the matter of payment," he pushed at the bully.

Big Jim pulled what was left of William's wad of money out of his pocket. He counted through it, then separated about half of it off, and handed it to William.

The whole joint was on pins-and-needles waiting to see if the new kid in town, to see if this new Slim-guy, who had managed to beat Big Jim at billiards, would dare demand a fair payment of Big Jim's debt.

William reached out and took the offer. "I'll use it for a re-match later," he suggested as he tucked the money into his pocket, accepting what could be portrayed as a compromise. _The plan would buy him an excuse to hang around longer without suspicion, for he hoped to learn much more that would be pertinent to the case._

The best he got from Big Jim in reply was a grunt.

"Very good," he said, _considering it a victory of sorts_. William replaced his cue stick in the rack on the wall, gathered his beer, _secretly wishing he hadn't, for now he would have to drink the foul stuff_ , and paused to see if the men would make room for him at one of the tables. They did, and he sat and prepared to pretend to watch.

)

There was a sense of urgency, and in the background of William's mind, an infernal din of an imagined _too-fast_ ticking of a clock, as he inspected the small, putrid-smelling bathroom, barely more than a privy with a flushable toilet. Inside, there was a window which could easily be used to escape undetected. _He would need to check the other side to see where it opened out to._

A flood of wolf-whistles and cheers sounded out from the billiard's room, as William checked down the corridor. His mind flashed an image of _Delores wiggling her shapely and plump bottom enticingly at the men as she bent down over the table. For the moment he was still safe._ At the end of the narrow hallway there was a backdoor.

It opened with near silence into what appeared to be little more than the wall of the next building. _No choice but to go around a corner_ … Then, behind this little nook of the building of Papa's Poolroom, there was a small open space. William's eyes hurried to follow the wall, searching for the bathroom window. Stacked up against the wall were crates of empty bottles, followed by a row of garbage pails. Just above the pails, he spotted the window. " _Quietly William_ ," his inner-voice reminded as he lifted the first metal lid to be graced by a stench of overly-fermented alcohol and decaying food. A small rusted-shut padlock had been thrown out most recently, so it rested atop the slimy pile. Hoping he would not need to dig deeper under that mess, William moved over to the pail directly under the bathroom window. Immediately his heart jumped – _this one had possibilities_. Inside, there was a soiled canvas bag. William opened it – _"GOTCHA!"_ his inner-voice whispered its exclamation. The first clue to be noticed inside the bag was a sparse grey wig, under it a raggedy shirt and pants… down lower a pair of old shoes… " _probably dried blood,"_ William told himself as he inspected their tops in just the dim light from the window, " _the right size… no taps on the soles. I'll probably even find traces of coal dust…"_

His next discovery inside the small canvas bag stopped his thoughts!

" _Rags!"_ Rags absolutely smothered in a black, greasy substance – " _ **BLACKFACE!"**_ his brain screamed his triumph! " _Weist must have used these to wipe off the blackf…"_

The window above him squeaked as it suddenly opened. A wave of panic ensued.

" _Delores,_ " his brain gasped her identity to him, his heart thundering so that it might explode. He quickly hugged the bag to his chest, and rushed to sneakily reach into that first pail… He planned in a flash, _imagining a million possible pathways inside of his head. One was that he could throw the rusty padlock at her._

"Detective Murdoch!" she whispered excitedly.

And William _had to read her so fast – so fast. Friend or foe, this woman who knew he was not 'Slim…?'_

He snuck the small padlock around his middle finger and folded it into his fist, and then replied, "Delores… I was, err…"

"The others will be right behind me, detective," Delores whispered. "Wait there," the woman seemed to take charge, her doing so somehow putting him at ease.

Quickly, she appeared around the back corner.

William stood tall, and typically for himself, stiff, as she approached. "You know who I am?" William asked her, having regained his composure.

"I do," she said, close enough to be heard as she whispered to him now. "I've seen you and your wife in the papers. That Madge Merton sure does adore the two of you. You and Dr. Ogden are in her column all the time – Toronto's Favorite Couple. I'd suppose the men don't know about it though, being of such low character they don't read such things as the society pages." Then she reconsidered, "More likely, they can't read at all," she insulted.

Deciding that _he had no choice but to trust her_ , William explained that he was investigating the murder of Ernie Williams.

Delores told him that she was here at Papa's that night and saw a street urchin deliver Mr. Williams a note. When asked to remember, she said that it had not been long after that that Mr. Beau Jangles had showed up outside making a scene with the baseball bat. Delores had also noticed that Mr. Weist had run off and cowered in the bathroom. "Big Jim even joked about it," she remembered.

William assessed his evidence aloud, in a whisper, "Weist was the one who everybody says was in the bathroom, and this bag with the disguise used to impersonate and frame Mr. Beau Jangles was found right here, under that same bathroom window. Inside of it there are rags with blackface makeup on them, and the same substance was found where Mr. Williams' was hidden behind the Tipsy Ferret. I think it might be enough…"

 _Out of the corner of the eye_ – _**the terror hitting before the actual sight of them…!**_

Big Jim and the other men in his gang shadowed the only way out.

Big Jim stepped deeper into what suddenly felt like an illegal boxing ring. The other men hung back as if to watch the show.

Big Jim spit on the ground, then turned his eyes briefly to Delores. "You warnin' im, are ya darlin'?" he threatened.

William Henry Murdoch had the habit of absolutely losing his mind whenever a woman was being threatened by a brute, and instinctively his blood began to boil inside of his veins, and what had been fear tempting his palms to sweat changed to a fury that curled his fingers into fists and clenched his jaw. Like David heroically stepping up to face Goliath, William puffed out his chest and moved to place himself in front of Delores.

Big Jim took a huge step forward to close the gap, and from his advantaged position, towering over brave William, Big Jim growled, "You snoopin' into none-a your own business 'Slim'…?"

From behind him, William heard Delores answer the charge, "Slim's friends of the Negro and Jack. He's gotta right… to help his friends, ain't he?"

Big Jim invaded further, his huge feet nearly toe-to-toe with William's. Even without looking down, William's mind imagined the unequal sight of their juxtaposed pairs of shoes beneath them both. And that rapid-fire brain of his whispered a certainty that he felt in his bones – " _Big Jim's shoesize is too big… Weist did this on his own… This watchdog goon is just protecting against anyone finding out – stopping anyone from finding proof…_ " William clutched tighter to the bag of evidence in his left arm, and secretly secured the small padlock like a set of brass knuckles inside the grip of his right hand – readying for the battle to come.

The smell of scotch, humid and hot, steamed down over William's face as Big Jim snidely instructed, "You're gonna have to hand over that bag there Slim…" and then he leaned down to smother any breathing space the smaller man had and added, "And that wad of money in your pocket too." Speaking of himself in the third person, as if he were a king or a god or an emperor, he goaded, "Big Jim don't take kindly to smartass little punks showin' up and thinkin' they're gettin' away with cheating… sneakin' some trick or another into the balls you racked. Yep, you'll be handin' over my money too."

William knew _his best hope was to use the element of surprise_. Quickly, incredibly quickly, his brain imagined the whole scene unfolding, in that odd shade of light it had when it moved faster than the speed of sound, encroached on the speed of light. _He would fake fear. He would fake attempted retreat_. His inner-coach told him to _pretend to "back away, scan the area for exits… Hold tight to the padlock in your right grip. Let the opponent come to you. Begin a sentence, in the middle of it, fake a blow to his gut, then let loose your strongest weapon…"_

 _ **You see, William Murdoch had always had one hell of an overhand right...**_

 _Oh, the sweetness flooded into him with imagining the forceful landing of the blow square in the bully's nose. William wanted it. He wanted it badly…_

Unexpectedly, the bag of evidence dropped to the ground.

Inaudible gasps whispered in reaction as all eyes, except those of Slim, followed the sound…

Time slowed as hearts raced, and breath held while chests heaved.

Eyes blazing to eyes, the two rivals honed in.

Big Jim leaned forward.

William leaned back… stepped back, for his instincts had reminded that _the ultimate distance to empower a punch was at full extension, and, so too, backing away fit with his feigned cowardice._

Keeping his face aimed directly into Big Jim's, William darted his eyes to the left, then to the right, following his pre-mapped-out plan.

Big Jim smiled a sly grin, enjoying the marshmallowy taste of his quarry's fear.

William reasoned, "I don't want any troub…"

The suddenly invading fake to Big Jim's gut surged the big man's motion forward to curl around the believed incoming blow.

The collision course was in motion before anyone could have seen it coming. Slim's fist, _secretly loaded with the inner force of the small metal padlock inside of it,_ surged forward on a trajectory straight towards Big Jim's nose, which was now hurling downward on a perfect path, aimed right for the inevitable, unavoidable impact.

 **KABOOM!**

The crack of it landed hard.

Big Jim's red, slick, hot blood sprayed out to splatter seemingly everywhere in the midst of the storm.

 _ **A punch had not felt as satisfying since William's fist had landed square to the jaw of Dr. Darcy Garland…**_

The force of the crash had sent the goliath backwards into the empty crates of bottles, the sounds of their high-pitched clattering and cracking and tinny splintering distinctly different from the deeper thundering thuds of William's pummeling round of follow-up blows. In the recesses of his mind, _William felt himself losing control,_ and a memory played of _his beating Mr. Falcone to a bloody pulp, out on the dock, the goon from the Black Hand having had so cruelly terrified the lovely Ana Fulford to the point where he and Julia had had to fake her death to free her from the gangster's grip._ And a part of him, somewhere out of sight, somewhere much deeper, _imagined his punches pounding into his father…_

As if from underwater, he heard the cries to stop – _his mother…? "Julia…?"_

Delores…

Big Jim's cronies…

All sides rushed in to stop the slaughter, the men pulling 'Slim' off of their slain ruler. The bunch of them grabbed into the fray and hoisted Slim up off of Big Jim.

 _ **And when the punchin' was done, the only part that wasn't bloody was the soles of the big man's feet. Big Jim was bleedin' in bout a hundred places. And he were bruised in a couple more. And you better believe they sung a different kind of story cause Jim had hit the floor.**_

The reality of the world settled in around William. "Delores…" he said, his memories and thoughts aligning with what was, with what he had just done. "Big Jim…" he looked down at the big man covered in blood, an imagined dent in the ground underneath where he lay from how hard the behemoth had fallen. William stared dumbfounded at what he had done, _part impressed and part relieved and another part feeling sickened by the carnal brutality at his own hands._ He dreaded the thought that crossed his mind, _that he would need to bless himself…_

The beaten man proved he was not dead by barely lifting a hand to cover his broken nose and bloodied mouth. Weakly, Big Jim let out a pained moan.

Relieved of that burden, William's eyes spun to consider Big Jim's cronies. Defensively, the fire in him began to recharge.

"You beat Big Jim?" one of them said, stunned.

"I… I didn't mean to… I…" William answered, still reeling.

"Handed him his hat, as it were, Slim," Rusty said… and then smiled.

And then completely unexpectedly, they began to say, they began to chant, they began to nearly whisper it in a song…

" _ **Ya don't tug an emperor's cape. Ya don't spit into the wind. Ya don't pull the mask off that old bank-robber. And ya don't mess around with**_ **SLIM** _ **.**_

 _ **Yeah, Big Jim got his hat.  
Found out where it's at.  
And it's not hustlin' people strange to you  
Even if you do got a two-piece custom-made pool cue…"**_

It took a second to solidify in William's mind, but he figured it out. _Gratefully, Big Jim's cronies were GLAD to see the bully dethroned, and they were in awe of 'Slim' for getting it done_. And then, just as his relief told his body that it could relax, he felt the _throbbing, searing pain in his hands – particularly his right one…_

"Detective Murdoch!" Delores gushed, "That was unbelievable!"

One of the men questioned, eyes investigating the small-town hero before him, "Detective…?"

Rusty asked her, "Did you call 'Slim' detective, Delores?"

"You're a copper?" another followed, directing the question to William now.

Only when replying did William feel the exhaustion seep in. "Detective William Murdoch, of the Toronto Constabulary," he introduced himself. Out of habit, he had reached to open his jacket to reveal his badge. " _It's not there,_ " he remembered. " _It's at home on the dresser_ ," he explained to himself further. _And an inkling of his nightmare in which he had lost his badge replayed. And it was true, and it was not true. And then he remembered the case…_

Fortunately, it seemed that these men had been bullied by Big Jim for way too long, and they were more than happy to aid this brave copper in finding the truth of his quest. Big Jim's men eagerly jumped sides. They told Detective Murdoch that Mr. Weist had been in the bathroom MUCH TOO LONG that night. Delores added that at one point she had wanted to use the privy herself and so she knocked on the privy door. She even went around to the outside to look in the window. **The door was locked from the inside, but it was empty. Mr. Weist was definitely NOT in the privy at the time his alibi had claimed.** Further, it turned out that Mr. Weist was not actually seen until just a half hour before closing time. The group admitted that they had been suspicious of Mr. Weist – because they all had been ordered by Big Jim to stick to Mr. Weist's claim that he was here in Papa's Poolroom ALL night, from before the street boy brought the note for Ernie Williams until closing. Big Jim was said to have threatened them that if they said otherwise, he would "take care of them," so they had held their tongues.

With that said and done, Rusty leaned over and dug his fingers deep down into Big Jim's pockets, pulling out layers upon layers of bills. "Here's your money back, detective…" the new friend said placing the piles of bills into William's hand, "And Jack's and Mr. Beau Jangles' money too, I'd wager, by the looks of it. Oh, and that good-luck charm of yours," he added, balancing the small wood carving on the top of the pile.

With this, Mr. Weist's alibi was destroyed. Murdoch still wondered after Mr. Weist's motive for killing Ernie Williams. Probably the rumors about a love affair between Mr. Williams and Weist's daughter were true, the killing of Williams ensuring his daughter would be able to marry _the toff Deputy Minister, Mr. King. King likely played into it all somehow. Perhaps he would never know… Perhaps not until after Mr. Weist and his wife were arrested and charged._

Back inside of Papa's, Detective Murdoch placed a call to Stationhouse #4. He sent Detective Watts and two constables over to the minstrel show theater to arrest Mr. Weist for the murder of Mr. Williams. He instructed Detective Watts to, "also bring in Mrs. Weist. If she insists on resisting coming down to the stationhouse with you, then arrest her as well. Charge her with aiding and abetting a crime, if it comes to that. And I'll need two constables here, um at Papa's Poolroom, with a paddy wagon. I'll be arresting Big Jim Walker for making false statements to the police and assault." Murdoch reminded Watts to call the Inspector and let him know that they were making these arrests in the case. "Oh, and please call my wife," he added just at the end of the call, "Ask her to have the nanny stay with the children…" William looked down to examine his blood-soaked shirt and jacket… _even the shoes._ "And please have her bring a suit for me… Oh, and her medical bag," he requested, _thinking of Big Jim, but also perhaps for himself, as he found himself staring down at his own swollen and injured, and already purple, right hand._

)

For so late at night on a Tuesday, Stationhouse #4 was buzzing. Mr. and Mrs. Weist had each been brought in, and Murdoch had instructed the constables to keep them separated, so Mr. Weist waited down in the cells, along with the rather beaten-up Jim Walker, while Mrs. Weist waited in the Interrogation Room. Two of the constables had been allowed to go home, the need for them over now. Constable Fisher stood guard down in the cells, Detective Murdoch figuring that having a Constabulary presence would inhibit the two men from exchanging information before he could question each of them. Inspector Brackenreid had come in despite the late hour, for this was an important case. Wanting to allay the profound pressure he and his men had been under throughout this case at the hands of the press, Brackenreid had notified the papers that Ernie Williams' killer had been arrested. The Inspector had given a short statement to the reporters who waited outside, telling them that, "as my detective here at Stationhouse #4, Detective William Murdoch, had predicted, the killer is not Mr. Beau Jangles."

When Julia arrived with William's clean suit, and his shoes, and her medical bag, she had to push her way through the reporters. She noticed that Miss Cherry was among the reporters who would be rushing to write their new headlines before re-printing tomorrow morning's papers. An excited jolt of energy surged through Julia as her eyes met those of the lady-reporter and the irritating woman immediately turned away. _"Good,"_ Julia thought to herself, " _She's embarrassed because she knows I was right_ ," and her mind played _back to that Sunday morning when the infuriating woman had ambushed her outside of her home._

Despite the fact that Miss Cherry had turned away, Julia made sure that all the reporters heard her as she greeted, "Good evening Miss Cherry." She chuckled to herself thinking she might have goaded, " _It seems tonight there's more 'humble pie' than 'cherry pie,' wouldn't you agree?"_ But choosing the higher road, she left it at that and simply nodded to the others and added, "Good evening gentlemen."

One of the men held the door for her, and she stepped over the threshold. _Her earlier dread returned, churning her stomach with that nagging fear that William had requested that she bring her medical bag because he had gotten hurt._ She squeezed her hand tighter around the handle of the extra bag she had brought – filled with ice… underneath his clean shoes, for she had _envisioned the swollen and broken noses and ribs and hands that come with beatings._ She inhaled deeply and forced herself to slowly let go of the air, calming herself. The door had not yet closed behind her… _"There!"_ her instincts seemed to find William before her mind did. _He was at George's desk talking with George…_

" _OH MY GOD! WILLIAM'S COVERED IN BLOOD!"_ her very core seemed to scream her panic at her, making her instantly dizzy, and sick, and weak, and terrified practically into a mere puddle on the floor.

And, _as if an invisible thread connected them_ , Julia's sudden halt, and her instantaneous pools of tears, her nearly silent gasp of his name, "William?!" drew his eyes up to see her from across the bullpen, _"there,"_ at the Stationhouse door.

"Julia," he called to her and rushed to close the distance between them, reassuring her as he ran to her, "It's not my blood Julia. I'm alright. I'm fine. I'm fine."

" _Of course he was,"_ some reasonable-sounding voice inside of her head answered. " _He can run. He can run. He's fine…"_ and then the important part landed, _"It's not HIS blood."_

William tenderly took hold of her by her upper arms, grounding her eyes to his as he steadied her. Such a pull between them, her big blue eyes at home in his, and he watched her refocus and center, and breathe with knowing that he was safe and unharmed. "I'm fine," he whispered more intimately to her.

The adrenalin cemented in all of her muscles, unneeded, spreading a lead-weighted surge of pain through her with the relief.

Then the corner of his mouth wrinkled, and there was a quick tilt of his head as he gave, "Well, fine except for my hand," with a small chuckle, for the pain had re-registered after the rush to soothe her had passed.

She stepped back and he lifted his injured right hand for her to examine it.

"I see," she said, even more relieved, "I'll examine it further, but at first glance it doesn't look to be broken."

"Very good," he bowed to her and invited her to join him to his office. In his good hand, he took the suit from her. "What's in there?" he asked, eyeing the other, non-medical, bag she had brought with her.

Utter silliness entered her head when she _imagined the two items inside together, and then extended the idea to one of her favorite things to tease him about._

Her expression warned him she would be telling one of her bad jokes. Already his eyebrow lifted…

"Well," she tried in her mind to find the best way to word it, "Your shoes… And some ice…" she tilted to him and whispered in his ear, "You wouldn't be complete as William Henry Murdoch without 'cold feet' now, would you?" she giggled, remembering _all the myriads of times he had come to their bed with his freezing cold feet shocking her, underneath the blankets, seeking out her warmth._

He pinched his lips tight and defended, "Julia, you know I can't help that."

"I do," she admitted, and then gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then more seriously she added, as their progression forward resumed, "I thought your injuries… um, because you had requested I bring the medical bag, well, I thought I might need ice… which I do, it seems."

"Yes," he agreed. "You will need to treat Big Jim as well, I'm afraid. He's down in the cells."

"Oh?" she asked. Her eyes dropped down to his blood-soaked shirt. "His blood, then?"

"Mm," he answered.

 _And secretly a part of her marveled at him._

Once the couple was inside of William's office, they closed the door and pulled the shades down, allowing the detective privacy to change out of his blood-stained clothes. While he changed, he told her all about his adventures as Slim and about all the evidence he had found, like the grey wig and the rags with blackface makeup on them. Julia readied the ice in a bowl, covered it with a towel, and a prepared a bandage for his hand as well.

Dressed except for his jacket, very glad to have his badge back on his chest, William sat on a stool at his worktable and Julia began treating his injured hand. A memory flared in his mind, _from years and years ago,_ the situation so very similar to this one. _That time he had_ _ **burned**_ _his hands rather than battered them… in the fire, when he and Prince Alfred had been kidnapped by the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and William's friend from his days at the Jesuit School, Eddie Driscoll, had run back into the fire, killing himself. For Eddie,"_ William figured, _"after losing in his fight for his cause of avenging the murders of his daughter and his wife, after seeing that his killing of others, who were also innocent, was not the answer, Eddie had had nothing else to live for…"_

Her question pulled him out of the memory, "Based on the amount of Big Jim's blood all over you, William, I truly wonder how you managed NOT to break this hand?"

"Fortunately, I was able to improvise," he explained. "I saw an old padlock in the garbage pails where I found the bag with all the evidence. I used it as a makeshift set of brass-knuckles of sorts…" he started and then cleared his throat.

 _ **The science geek in him would elaborate…**_

And Julia _fought the urge to roll her eyes and sigh, anticipating the forthcoming dissertation on the physics of padlocks and brass-knuckles and punches._

"I calculated that the padlock would add weight, thus further empowering my punches," William figured aloud, "and with its being made of metal, by putting a finger through the ring of it, I could strengthen the force of each impact I could make… and, well, the main body of the lock filled the empty space inside of my closed fist that would have collapsed with the blows, were the lock not there…"

"Thus minimizing the chances of breaking your hand," she finished his thought for him, nodding her head. Truth be told, she had come around to awing at this remarkable man again. _The Inspector had said he was quick… and that, he surely is._ "I'm sure it helped, William… It was very smart," she said. But then, then… her mind began to _imagine him_ _ **actually IN the fight, brass-knuckles or not**_ , and she felt that skin-crawling terror return, _for he could have been beaten to death, she was certain of it…_ Such a lump swelled tight in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears, and _she didn't want him to see_ , so she just twirled away from him… But _she felt him there behind her, and she felt embarrassed in the same moment, realizing he probably knew what had happened to turn her away_. She hurried a hand up to cover her mouth, afraid that a distressed sound might come out.

And oh, how sweet the concern in his voice was, as he asked after her, "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?"

And then, deciding _she did not mind if he saw her tears,_ she turned back to him and answered, "No, William. I'm just glad you're here."

It was lovely, the way he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, telling her that he understood her tears, and admitting that he was sorry, and so too, reminding her that there was nothing he could do about it. Deepening his care, he brought his uninjured hand up to brush away a curl from her face, and then he softly tucked his fingers into her hair and glided them over her ear. "We've already discussed this, Julia… at some length," his big warm eyes swore his truth to her, "It is who I am. It is who we each are…"

She nodded, a flooding inside of her of knowing that he was right.

William ducked down to catch her fleeting eyes. He added his other hand to his tender hold on her face. "We have agreed there will be risk in living our lives as our hearts tell us each we must," he continued.

"Yes," her voice a whisper intermingled with a squeak. She nodded, and her eyes glistened so beautifully with pooled tears, and she swallowed them down and flashed him a smile.

A tear, so big, grew heavy and then began to roll down her cheek… to be caught by his thumb. And he leaned in and kissed away the salty moisture there. Close to her ear now, his voice said, "And we've come to see how we love each other, especially _BECAUSE_ of these things that drive us each to risk so much, hmm?"

She leaned into his arms, and she told him sweetly, "Yes. Yes. We do." And she knew in her heart that he was right, for it was the deepest truth, that for them, to live was to risk in following your heart.

A knock at the door.

The Inspector's impatient voice barked…

 _William detecting the hidden hint of play in it_ …

"Oi! Murdoch! Must you always be slow as molasses!" prompting the couple to uncomfortably jump apart.

William called a reply through the closed door, "Sorry sir. We're… We're finished, err… Dr. Ogden was treating my injured hand…"

"That's not all she's 'treating' I'd wager," Brackenreid mumbled to himself. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" he pushed for the man and his wife to hurry up.

They separated and Julia collected her medical bag.

Thinking of Julia's next going down to the cells to care for Big Jim, William felt an onslaught of shame. _"She would see! She would see what a brute you've been… what a brute you are…"_ the wave of the nauseating thoughts permeated through him.

His eyes, his expression, told her, " _Something was wrong."_

William, in turn, saw her worry and immediately his eyes teared against his will.

She stepped back in close to him, and his eyes diverted downward.

"William," her tender voice promised compassion, "What is it?"

What he said in response was unexpected, his calling up a shared memory.

"Do you remember when you helped me convince Mr. Falcone of the Black Hand that Ana had been shot…?" he asked her.

"Yes," she nodded.

And William left it there… _waiting for her to see…_

"Oh William," she melted with grasping what it was that troubled him so much, "The man you went up against tonight was a horrifying bully. I swear to you, William, in many ways it WAS as if you set out on an impossible quest to slay a dragon… a dragon that terrorized and brutalized the world. It is expected that you would need to be violent in defeating such a man."

His lips pinched tight, raising and puffing his rosy cheeks, and he nodded, thanking her.

"Good," she replied.

Standing from the stool and walking her to the door, he opened it and said, "I'd like you to join me when I interrogate Mrs. Weist… after you've been down to see to Mr. Walker, um, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," she answered and then tilted to him and added, "I'd be delighted."

)) ((


	11. Two Live is Two Dance, Even in Thunder

Chapter 11: Two Live is Two Dance, Despite Storm Clouds A-Rumblin'

Closer to midnight than not, Mr. Weist was brought up from the cells to be interrogated by both Detective Watts and Detective Murdoch. His wife, Mrs. Weist, was transferred to Murdoch's office, to be kept under the watchful eye of Constable Crabtree to wait to be interrogated by both Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden.

In asking his wife to join him in questioning the woman, _the woman who William KNEW had laced Mr. Beau Jangles' whiskey with laudanum – for it was MRS. WEIST'S fingermark on the bottle_ , William had figured that Julia would be an important asset. He was extremely proud of his wife, and he would be grateful for the opportunity to rely on her multiple skills, for as he saw them, Dr. Julia Ogden was not only the best pathologist he had ever known, but she was also a highly trained psychiatrist, and added to that her being a woman often enabled a sense of trust when dealing with individuals who were struggling with freeing themselves of a burden such as the one Mrs. Weist held. He anticipated that having her by his side would be abundantly helpful in gaining more of the truth from Mrs. Weist.

While the two detectives questioned Mr. Weist, Dr. Ogden went down to the cells to examine and treat Mr. Big Jim Walker. Upon first seeing Big Jim laid out on the cot in the cell, the cot itself sunk so low under the man's weight it nearly touched to the floor, she was struck by how huge the man truly was – thinking to herself, remembering, " _George was right, he's like a country horse."_

Stepping into the cell, with Big Jim groaning as he moved to see her, Julia _felt ever so grateful that Constable Fisher was there with her, that she was not alone with this intimidating man_ , and she heard inside of her head, _little Chelsea declare,_ " _Dwagon haves fire!"_ And then, unexpectedly, she shuddered to herself at seeing the extent of the man's bruises, and all the swelling, and discoloration. And then, " _Oh my,"_ she nearly gasped as she caught sight of all the blood smudges left behind on the cot's mattress after the man had sat up. Each one, from the numerous lacerations on Big Jim's backside, most of the cuts still embedded with tiny pieces of glass, from when he had been flung backwards by William's secretly-padlock-packed punch into the crates of empty bottles. " _William most definitely showed this man who was boss,"_ she thought to herself, with a _tug at her heart remembering how worried he had been that she would think badly of him for doing so._

)

Immediately before the interrogation of Mr. Weist, Murdoch's last thought, before he walked out of the door of his office, expertly prepared folders of evidence in his arms, was to _remember the sensations pulsing through his veins when he pulled the trigger on Gillies' revolver, with every intention of killing James Gillies dead_. He had done it to save his infant son, to save his Julia, once more, from this monster who had again used her to get to him, this time hooking her up to a bomb upstairs in their bedroom, set to explode if her heart beat to quickly… _Yes, he would kill for them, he knew that for certain. "But,"_ he reminded himself, _"Mr. Weist did NOT kill to save his daughter's life, but instead, at least most likely…"_ William unknowingly wrinkled his face in doubt as he talked to himself inside of his head on his way to the Interrogation Room, " _Weist killed merely so that their daughter could marry well – to gain wealth and prestige. No, not even if I were a pauper. And,"_ he reminded himself, " _Bill Weist was no pauper. No, there was no correctness to be found in what Weist had done,"_ he told himself as he arrived at the doorway and nodded to Detective Watts.

 _ **Now, now, Detective William Murdoch was ready to be ruthless for what his heart told him was right, even if his expectations were right, and in doing he so, he came face to face with that which is evil.**_

Inside the Interrogation Room, Detective Watts mostly watched on as Detective Murdoch masterfully confronted Mr. Weist with the abundance of evidence he had accumulated against the man for committing both the murder of Mr. Ernie Williams and also the frame of Mr. Beau Jangles.

Mr. Weist quickly crumbled under the extreme pressure and confessed.

"I scripted it perfectly," the man seemed to brag, "Even imitated lousy cats yowling in heat while I had to make all those clanging noises with the garbage pails when I moved his body to the Tipsy Ferret coal-chute… before I burned it." He elaborated further, "And I convinced 'em all, made all those people believe that I _WAS_ that old Negro…!"

And William subconsciously sought for the wood-carved free-flying bird in his pocket, remembering Mr. Beau Jangles, comforting himself against the blaring hate of what the man in front of him had done with the thought that _justice had been done, that the truth had been found and uncovered for all to see._

Weist's pride appeared to drop away, and he said, "Big stupid imbecile, that blasted Big Jim… Never let me down before," he sighed and shook his head.

" _Motive…" motive had always been the sticking point with this case, "and finally, finally…"_ William believed _he would get some answers._

"Why did you want Mr. Williams dead?" Murdoch asked frankly. He went on, "Was it not true that it was Ernie Williams who helped you with your Negro-worker problem? Was _HE_ not the man who joined you, who betrayed his friend and partner, Mr. Beau Jangles, and who folded to your demands, first of all the Negro performers in your troupe, encouraging all of his fellow Negros to follow suit?"

Mr. Weist's face stoned, becoming clenched and gritted and hard with anger. "That smart-ass bastar…!" Weist stopped himself before erupting further. But sitting there, Bill Weist seethed with rage, for he could still _not believe, "the gall of that little nigg**! Thinking he could court… he could IMPREGNATE!... MY daughter!"_ his brain ranted his fury inside of his head.

Cunning, Murdoch knew that _with the tiniest touch, light as a feather, this powder-keg would blow…_

Detective Murdoch took a step away from the man, put his hands in his trousers' pockets, and glanced to Detective Watts, _almost winked_ , and said calmly with a slight shrug of a shoulder, "Rumor has it that Mr. Williams was involved with your daught…"

 **BOOM, the predicted explosion came** , Weist standing and pounding his fists down into the rock-solid interview table with a hearty bang. "How dare he put his hands on her – put his… Cocky little nigg** didn't know his place!" he steamed.

"And you showed him," Murdoch said matter-of-factly, turning and bringing his eyes to burn deeply into his prey's, "You showed him his place, didn't you? His overstepping it by falling in love with your daughter is what cost him his life, wasn't it?"

 _A sickening feeling seeped down into Weist's gut_ , disgust curling his upper lip, and he calmed. Slower, dropping towards a self-soothing whisper, he said, "Bast*rd deserved it." And then defeated, Mr. Weist returned to his seat.

Detective Watts moved in to tackle the new subject, "And Adelaide..." he asked, "What became of your daughter Mr. Weist…?"

And for the first time throughout the entire case it occurred to William, with Watts' question, that _Weist could have been so angry at their having an affair that he had killed his own daughter as well as her Negro lover,_ and the mere thought of it turned his stomach, and crept and crawled up under his skin…

Mr. Weist let go a big sigh, and his face dulled, and his eyes became unfocused, and he said, staring off into the distance, "We had to send her away…"

And William _felt a wave of relief, for he could tell by the way the man said it that it was true – that he had not killed her too…_

In more control than William felt, Watts pressed forward, asking, "Where…?" And then Watts moved in closer to Weist and tilted his head that odd way he does, _examining_. "Where did you send her?" he pursued.

"She was going to marry… uh…" and Weist looked up into Watts' eyes, _seeking understanding, and a little deeper inside of himself he sensed it, his wish for forgiveness._ "Adelaide was going to marry the Deputy Minister," he tried to explain, and then his voice began to crack, and he shrugged, and the weight of it leadened down on him, "Before all of this." And he knew then, _that Adelaide would never marry such a man as Mr. King, and that he would be going to jail and probably be hung, and worse,_ the truly unbearable fact digging deep into the marrow of his bones, he knew _**that Adelaide would never, ever, forgive him for what he had done.**_

Murdoch cleared his throat. "And what of the Deputy Minister of Labor?" he inquired, "Did Mr. King play any part in the crimes?"

Mr. Weist raised his head to look at the man who had brought him down so hard. "As far as I know, detective, Mackenzie King never learned of Adelaide's…" Weist _struggled with the word, finally choosing,_ "transgressions." He paused and then admitted, "We held out hope that the engagement could be saved." Bill Weist considered, then, _whether or not to repeat the lie he and his wife had spread about Adelaide being sent to finishing school. He put it off, starting farther back…_

Mr. Weist told the two detectives that Deputy Minister King had met his daughter when he attended one of their performances, and that that very evening he had asked for their permission to court her, which he subsequently began to do. "Mackenzie King was a big help to me," Bill Weist added, "Brought the government's strength behind me in my dispute with Beau Jangles and the other Negro performers, said as far as the law was concerned they had to wear blackface no matter the color of their skin, and that Negros should be happy to get any wages at all, let alone ask for higher ones."

Detective Watts reminded, "It is no surprise as to where Deputy Minister King's opinions on such matters would lie, considering his bigoted views on prohibiting any further immigration of Asians into Canada with the hopes of keeping our beloved country, ' _PROPERLY WHITE…_ '"

"I guess the show will have to close now," Weist changed the subject, seeming to have reached a conclusion.

"It seems likely," William gave.

But then Detective Murdoch's inhalation, his return to the evidence folders at his end of the big wooden table, suggested that there was more.

Murdoch tapped one of the folders with his unbandaged hand, and then began pacing once more. Nonchalantly, he put his hands down into his pockets again. "You would have needed an accomplice," he started.

 _ **And over in his chair, Bill Weist's blood chilled to ice.**_

Murdoch went on, a quick glance over to Weist, the look on the man's face telling him that _he had hit quite a nerve_ , "You needed someone to keep Mr. Beau Jangles from going to the poolroom during your 'performance' for your plan to work. You needed to ensure that no one would see him at the same time you were pretending to be him, and more importantly, you needed to guarantee the Mr. Beau Jangles would NOT have an alibi for the times not only of your performance, but also the murder itself, and even for the time when you moved and burned the body. And you needed to keep him unconscious long enough for you to cart him to the crime scene in order for the frame to be believed…"

 _He would wait now, wait for Weist to tell._

Both Detective Murdoch and Detective Watts watched as the man before them blanched and shook his head and stuttered, speechless and petrified.

Watts looked to Murdoch, who frowned.

 _William would rather have the man tell them himself than have to push it further._ He reached up and rubbed at his forehead and then sighed and pushed himself forward. He walked back to the folders…

 _ **And Bill Weist wrenched with his terror…**_

Murdoch opened the only folder yet to be used. "We found a fingermark on the whiskey bottle that was left with Mr. Beau Jangles on the night of the murder," the detective explained. "That bottle had traces of laudanum in it," he continued.

 _His own voice, outside, inside, his head, Bill Weist heard it praying to the Lord above,_ _ **"No. No. No. Please not Helen. No, no…"**_

Murdoch reached up and rubbed at his brow as he said the most devastating part, "We have matched the fingermark to those of your…"

 **And an absolute WAILING halted the words in midair…**

 **And Mr. Bill Weist fell out of his chair onto his knees…**

 **And he clasped his hands in front of his heart and he begged with all his might, "No, no, no, no, please no. Please don't. Please don't… detective…"**

And William's brain scalded the truth of it to him inside of his head, _**"Oh my God, he LOVES her – he loves her like I love Julia, he loves her…!"**_

And Llewelyn Watts of William Murdoch shared a look, each recognizing in the other an empathy with the pain. And they saw that neither of them had the heart to force the broken man to be the one to betray his wife.

"Detective Murdoch," Watts asked for permission, "Perhaps that's enough for now?"

A deep breath, the pressure so heavy it smothered his lungs, Murdoch responded, "Yes. Yes, if you wouldn't mind, could you have Mr. Weist write out his confession?"

Watts nodded, "Most certainly."

And the two men awkwardly battled with _saying or not saying what they both knew would come next – Murdoch leaving to go get the confession from Mrs. Weist, herself, that SHE had been the one to drug Beau Jangles that night._

After too long of a pause, Detective Murdoch clamped his lips together and nodded to Watts.

And Detective Murdoch turned, and with no words said, he left.

)

Inspector Brackenreid mulled over his choices, already knowing which he would choose. _He could go outside to the gathered and waiting reporters with what had just been told by Murdoch_ – that Mr. Bill Weist had confessed to the murder of Mr. Ernie Williams, and to the framing of Mr. Beau Jangles for said murder. He would be able to add to that report that one of the men who worked for Mr. Weist, a Mr. Big Jim Walker, had also confessed to making false statements and to assaulting TWO police officers. _His other choice was to wait, to wait for Murdoch and his wife to get Bill Weist's wife to confess to aiding and abetting in the murder and the frame-up. He already knew he would wait – those two, as a team, were truly astounding. He was certain they would be successful._ But a thought interrupted, " _Remember that that Murdoch is usually SLOW as Molasses!"_ and suddenly he felt a wave of annoyance crash through him, gritting his teeth, and under it was the fact that he was thoroughly exhausted. "Bollocks Murdoch!" he cursed out to no one there. _He wanted to be home in bed_ … _AND he also wanted tomorrow's papers to vindicate his Stationhouse from all the blasphemous and hurtful charges their headlines had reported against those at Stationhouse #4 previously on this 'Negro-Killer case._ He could get both of those things, be home in bed and vindication… " _Just go tell them now. Then go home. Let Murdoch tell you they got the woman to talk tomorrow morning. That's good enough – isn't it?"_

Thomas shook his head to himself. _Most of all, it seemed, he wanted this_ _ **whole thing**_ _to be over with._ He sighed and got up and went and poured himself another scotch. _Yes, he already knew, he would wait._

)

William and Julia briefly huddled together in the bullpen to discuss a plan for their shared interrogation. William's heart still ached from having just witnessed Mrs. Weist's husband fall apart with grief over what they were hopefully about to confirm with a confession. His compassion drove him to _pull the 'household adhesive strip' off quickly, as it were._ "Julia," his voice revealed a modicum of the soreness he felt, "Her husband…." William swallowed, then went on, "I believe Mr. and Mrs. Weist are still quite in love with each other, even after all their years of marriage. I do not want to play cat and mouse with her, to drag out getting her to tell us what has already been confessed to and what we are already certain of. I suggest we inform Mrs. Weist that her husband has confessed to the killing of Mr. Williams, and the framing of Mr. Beau Jangles for that same murder, and that we do so right at the onset of the interrogation, and then immediately present her with the evidence we have against HER that proves she helped her husband carry out those crimes."

Julia agreed, but felt a more personal 'telling,' rather than his more evidence-based 'telling,' would lead to the building the trust that they would need in order for Mrs. Weist to tell them, later on in the interrogation, the other things they wanted to know – like what really had happened to their daughter. This was particularly troubling now that William had confirmed that Mr. Weist's motive for the murder was Ernie Williams' affair with their daughter. And still, William wanted to learn of any role Deputy Minister King might have played in the crimes. Julia suggested she be the one to begin, modeling how she might start for him, saying, "Perhaps something like, 'Your husband has confessed to the murder, and although he has not implicated you in being involved, we want you to know that we are fully aware that you drugged Mr. Beau Jangles with laudanum to ensure that he would NOT have an alibi for the killing." She took a breath _considering what they would do if Helen Weist did not confess after that…_

"And if she needs a push, then I will present the fingermark evidence," William said, and then he asked, "Are we in agreement then?"

Julia nodded, and they headed in.

)

From the moment Julia Ogden laid eyes on Helen Weist sitting in William's office, the woman's face pale, shoulders slumped and yet somehow still rigid, she knew she was a woman heavily burdened by her guilt, her guilt as much as her fear of being caught. As they had planned, she delicately, but directly, informed the woman that they knew of her part in the crimes her husband had perpetuated. As they had hoped, she seemed relieved to get the secrets off of her chest, confessing within the first two minutes of the interrogation to drugging and detaining Mr. Beau Jangles in his own room, under the guise of trying to convince him to return to the minstrel show and enticing him with an expensive bottle of whiskey.

There was a pause, _Mrs. Weist not seeming to notice. Her eyes stared past William,_ Julia noticed. _She was looking AT the window behind William, more than looking OUT of it._ "Mrs. Weist?" she asked, "Are you alright?"

Her stare not altering, Mrs. Weist answered her, "I will go to prison… my Bill possibly hung, at best he will spend the rest of his life in a prison, a prison separated, apart from, mine. I may never see him again… the love of my life…"

 _And Julia's heart sunk…_

 _And William's heart sunk…_

And they shared a look. William wrinkled a corner of his mouth. _There was nothing to be done, for what the woman had just said was correct._

William spoke up then, saying that what had troubled him most in this case had always been the motive for killing Mr. Williams. He looked across to Julia.

"Was it to do with your daughter, Mrs. Weist?" Julia asked softly, "Because Adelaide had fallen in love with Mr. Williams…" she paused.

 _Mrs. Weist's eyes seemed to plead so desperately._

And Julia thought to herself that " _THIS, THIS is where the woman's heavy burden of guilt lies…"_

"What is it?" Julia opened the door just wide enough, inviting the stoically overwrought woman to step through…

Tears filled Helen's eyes and she blurted, "She was pregnant! She was pregnant… with… with," and her brain stalled, for _it was impossible to say it._

Julia picked it up, leaning closer, saying it low, with the confidentiality it deserved, "Adelaide had gotten pregnant with Ernie Williams' baby?"

And Mrs. Weist nodded. Sniffling, crying, beginning to collapse and fall apart, the cracks allowing more and more of the truth to seep out…

William rushed to hand Mrs. Weist a beautifully-clean, white, handkerchief.

Julia wondered to herself as an aside, _"How does he do that?!"_ for she was _fairly certain there had not been such an item in the suit she had brought for him._

Mrs. Weist thanked him and used the handkerchief to cover nearly half of her face, for shame demanded, most, the desire to be unseen, to hide. "I only wanted to spare her," she cried, wishing to relieve the awful feelings that had overtaken her down to her very core.

William rubbed at his brow, confounded by all the possibilities his mind offered, _"Spare her daughter from what exactly… the public shame of having had been intimate with a Negro… becoming pregnant out of wedlock… a life in relative poverty…? And how exactly did she DO this sparing… by helping her husband kill Mr. Williams…? Or perhaps she sent her daughter away to give birth in secret…?"_

Julia's instincts telling her to help the woman regain some control, she searched her mind for a question that would be simple to answer, to help pull the woman away from the overwhelming flood of emotions. One came to mind. "How did you learn of their affair, Mrs. Weist?" she asked.

Helen lifted her face out of the handkerchief, the cool air on her skin reminding her she should, she could, breathe. She wiped at her cheeks. "I spied Adelaide sneaking out of house one day," she swallowed, took a breath.

 _She was calming down,_ Julia noted.

"And then I remembered that I had seen Adelaide at the show hall… the theater, giving a note to a street urchin," she explained further…

And William's brain sparked with a web of connections – _probably the same street urchin who brought Ernie Williams that note Rusty had told him about, in the poolroom the night he was killed… Mrs. Weist must have used the same boy she saw her daughter using. The timing of the note's arrival that night could have given her husband the all-clear, could have served to let Bill Weist know that she had taken care of Mr. Beau Jangles. And, in using the same boy Adelaide had always used, it would have tricked Mr. Williams into thinking it was_ _ **Adelaide**_ _who was sending him the note, to get Mr. Williams to go to the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret, where he probably expected he would be meeting Adelaide…_

The force of Mrs. Weist's crying increased as she told, handkerchief muffling her words once more, "I had seen Mr. Williams sending and receiving notes multiple times from that same street boy…!" she cried, "And I knew…" Mrs. Weist began to shake her head, _wishing it weren't true_ , "I just knew they were…" and words failed her so she just shook the handkerchief about like a white flag signifying surrender.

William and Julia shared another look, neither one knowing exactly what to say next.

Sitting before the detective and the doctor, _so badly, Helen wanted to rid herself of the awful, awful feelings crowding in around her._ She sniffed and then sat up straighter. _An idea had come to her._ Mrs. Weist glanced to William, then to Julia. "Dr. Ogden…? You and Detective Murdoch… You are married?" she asked.

"Yes," Julia answered her.

"Do you have children?" the important question came, with Helen Weist _already knowing full well that they did, for she had followed the story of the birth of their son in the papers. It had been with great personal interest, those some odd years ago, and she remembered being so touched by their story, specifically because she had felt akin to the suffering they had gone through in NOT being able to have a baby, and then too, the miracle that 'Toronto's Favorite Couple' experienced in being blessed with a live, flesh and blood, child of THEIR own being born into the world._

"Yes," Julia answered with a slight bounce, multiple emotions erupting inside of her – _pride first, then an uneasiness…_ "We have three…" Julia caught William's eye.

William added, "A son and two daughters."

"So, you know then," Mrs. Weist said, "Or at least you can imagine. Life with Negro man, a mulatto baby, would be a hard life. Not one you would want for one of your daughters, for a child you love, as much as I am sure you love them, to have to endure. Wouldn't you do anything…? ANYTHING possible to save them from that?"

And the thought fired through both William's and Julia's heads at the exact same time – _"AN ABORTION! They sent their daughter away to force her to have an abortion…"_

And there was a rush to hold to each other, William and Julia locked together for a moment. _A major point in the case uncovered! And their own lives together SO VERY MARKED WITH ABORTIONS – Julia having had one herself, and it nearly breaking them, and astoundingly, later William bearing his own guilt for HIS doing the previously unthinkable and begging her to abort William Jr., William going that far because he was so very frightened that she would die trying to have him, and then, too, the same torture with their beautiful unborn daughter, Mary Susana… And now, right now, Julia was in the midst of teaching her students how to perform abortions, that and other related practices threatening her imprisonment if she were to get caught teaching them._ And then Julia thought, _"If only women could all have access to her IUDs, so much of this suffering could be avoided."_

 _ **And it was stuck there between them, for**_ _ **these two had danced around, and right into, this thorny issue since, what seemed to be, eternity…**_

Back to the case, William cleared his throat, and rubbed at his forehead, and then asked, "That is how you felt about your daughter then…?" He shrugged a shoulder, telling himself to push on, "That her being pregnant with Mr. Williams' baby would ruin her life?"

Julia would brave it. She slowed her words to be clear, "Mrs. Weist, did you and your husband procure an abortion for your daughter?"

The woman's eyes begged, for admitting it would cost so much.

Unexpectedly, William felt anger. His tone suggested its presence as he said, "So you and your husband made up the story about sending Adelaide to Lady Jane Grey's Charm School," he asserted. His eyes glared. His jaw stiffened, and William told, "You should be aware that we already know your daughter was never even registered there…"

Mrs. Weist could not respond, her look one of being stunned.

William went on, "Instead, you sent her to get an abortion!" he charged, "And likely one that she did not want!" He needed to calm himself, feeling his anger brewing to fury. Then he remembered his previous interview with Mrs. Weist, his mind replaying _the woman pleading with him to find her daughter… and how much his heart had ached for her in imagining, for even just one second, how shattered he would feel if he had lost either Katie or Chelsea…_

BAM!

The bang of William's uninjured hand to his desk as he stood drew both women's gasps.

"You begged me to find her for you!" he accused.

"Detective, I **DID** need you to find her!" Mrs. Weist cried. Her tears poured out again, and she sobbed, "I still do! Adelaide ran away…"

Julia inserted, "Not completely unexpected, considering what you had done to her." _And it wasn't until she heard her own words that Julia realized that she, too, was angry. And then guilt spilled into her, for she remembered the look of Mrs. Weist when she had first set eyes on her today, so burdened, and now Julia was certain that it was Helen Weist's guilt and remorse over having forced her daughter into aborting a child that her daughter loved with all her heart that had burdened the poor woman so._

For his part, William had run through a myriad of emotions, at this moment pushing himself past his embarrassment at having had lost control of himself. In an effort to stabilize, he turned to is default – logic and reason. He walked away from his chair, drawing their attention, and said, "It's likely she would come back here, here to Toronto… hoping to rejoin with Mr. Williams…"

 _Oh, Mrs. Weist paled with nausea, for the force of it all hit her in that very moment_.

The pain on her face drew all of the air out of the room.

William halted.

Her voice flat with defeat, ghostly, Helen Weist said, "No. No, detective. I don't think she would do that. You see, Adelaide did not disappear until AFTER we killed Mr. Williams. I think she knew somehow… knew what we had done…" and there her words stopped, and it seemed she would never, never, breathe again…

"Mrs. Weist?" Julia asked, concerned for the distraught woman.

"My husband will hang," she said dully, "I will likely spend out my days behind bars for what I have done. I accept that." She moved, lifted her head, looked Julia in the eye.

 _It chilled, the look._

And then, looking inside, Mrs. Weist found there was the slightest inkling to explain. "We did not know that Adelaide had told Mr. Williams that she was expecting their unborn child. When we sent her away, telling everyone she had gone to Lady Jane Grey's finishing school, well…he guessed at what we had really done. He was adamant that he would find Adelaide. He was furious with us… for sending her away, for, for…" Mrs. Weist swallowed down the shame, "for making her _k-_ kill their… their baby. He threatened to tell Deputy Minister King about their love affair. It would have ruined Adelaide's chances. We had to stop him… to save her. Don't you see?" she hoped, but she saw it in their eyes _, their disgust_. Her upper lip curled with self-loathing as she suddenly saw herself as they did.

The worst of it faced up to now, she no longer needed the detective's handkerchief. Her tears were through, _it seemed everything was through._ As she returned his soggy handkerchief to him, Helen _imagined telling him, "Please keep looking for her. Find her detective, find her, and please tell her we love her. Tell her that we did it for her, so she could have a good life…"_ But she felt it so solidly, the hopelessness, the giving up. _Adelaide would hate her for the rest of her life. She had lost the only thing in the world she truly loved, well, the only two things, for she had lost Bill as well. Truth be told, once she had reached this extent of despair, she wished that she, too, would hang._

A thought interrupted, _"The woman… Dr. Ogden, though. She's so kind…."_ And as Helen looked into Julia's pretty blue eyes, expecting loathing but finding warmth, a single tear formed, moistening the harshness of the world, and she felt a warm bathing aching all through her very being. _She would tell her. This woman, this particular woman, she would understand._

The detective returned to his seat.

Helen leaned towards Julia. "We tried for so long," Mrs. Weist swallowed to clear her dried-up voice, "to have a baby. Bill and I were so very much in love. That made it harder, not being able to have a child with the man you loved so much. I had given up, you see." Helen sniffled. Then she brightened, remembering, "I suppose that's why I finally managed to get pregnant, with Adelaide, because I had given up hope… Bill too, had accepted that we had been only fortunate enough to have found each other, NOT fortunate enough to have a child of our own as well. But then, God blessed us. From the moment Adelaide was born it was like a part of me, like my heart or my arm, was out there in the world where I couldn't keep it safe. But I tried. I guess I tried too hard, in the end. I only wanted her to be happy, you see."

The woman's words hung and lingered in the room.

It was the man in the room who spoke up. "We do have children, Mrs. Weist," William said. He took a deep breath and continued, feeling the woman caught with his words, "And we do understand the call to do anything for them." William rubbed at his brow…

And the man's deep brown eyes swore to her their sincerity as he said his peace, _and Helen felt a shifting inside of herself, for she had missed it all along…_

"But an easy life is not one that we wish for them to strive for…" the detective said, and then looked to is wife. She smiled at him.

He looked back to Helen Weist. "A good life, one that is treasured and cherished and valued, one that is worth living, is not easy. Rather, it is living a meaningful life that we wish for our children," he explained. And then he added hope, at the end, "Perhaps your daughter has found that." And William wrinkled a corner of his mouth admitting he wished for Mrs. Weist that it was so.

And Helen Weist graciously admitted, "I hope you are right, detective. I truly, truly hope you are right."

)

Detective Murdoch asked George to take Mrs. Weist's statement while he and Dr. Ogden informed Inspector Brackenreid of all of the details on the case that they had just learned. Afterwards, the couple returned together to the empty bullpen.

There, Julia confided, "I feel for her," and she looked into William's eyes – _he was listening, listening with his heart on his sleeve…_ "Helen Weist lost what was most precious to her, her daughter's love, her husband, because of her own doing. It must hurt terribly."

William subconsciously reached into his pocket, finding the small wooden bird there. "She was willing to frame an innocent man, let him hang, for what she and her husband had done, Julia," he asked her to consider the other side, and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her.

She tucked her arm in his. "Yes," she gave, "I see your point." But Julia's heart ached, for she remembered _how urgently she had wanted to have a child with William, and how wondrous it had felt when they finally had had William Jr., and she couldn't help but feel the agony that would come if she ever lost that beautiful boy._ And then her mind added, _or Katie or Chelsea either._

"Well," William changed the subject, his eyes looking to the Inspector's office. "The Inspector was certainly happy to hear that Deputy Minister King wasn't involved," he noted.

"I'd wager Mackenzie will never get that close to marrying again," Julia figured aloud.

"Once bitten, twice shy?" William asked.

"Believe me William, Mackenzie was quite _SHY_ before this whole mess. I dare say, he'll be so glad to have it over with that he won't even remember that he had called for your badge," she told.

A simple clamping together of his lips in response, William wouldn't say what he was thinking, _that the toff should admit that he had been wrong to ever demand his badge in the first place…_

"I'd like to check on your slayed 'dwagon,'" Julia teased and complimented him at the same time using little Chelsea's words, "before we go home." _She had envisioned them sharing a cab home, but then she remembered that he had ridden his bicycle to work this morning_. "Shall I wait…" she stepped closer to him and stroked one of his suit lapels, then coyly caught his eye before looking away and saying flirtatiously, "So you can see me into my cab, detective?"

He took a deep breath savoring the moment, the sensations of being bone-tired but with the contentedness of also being successful, and also profoundly grateful to be with her. It was one of those unexpected moments in which the heart fills with gratitude. _And somehow, he wanted to thank her, thank her for… well truly, everything._ His smile reddened his cheeks and he bowed to her, "Thank you Julia," all he said. And then _he thought of the Weist's, saw in his mind again, Bill Weist falling down onto his knees in despair at knowing the fate of his beloved._ His voice took on a misty tone, the surprise of it widening both Julia's eyes and her heart, and he said, "Julia…"

"Yes…?" she whispered.

"It's the last time, the last night, that Bill and Helen Weist may ever see each other… ever be together," he acknowledged, and for that, he truly hurt. Then a possible easing _, a small gift_ , crossed his mind, brightening his face.

"What is it, William?" she rushed to ask.

"It is a bit unconventional…" he wrinkled his face doubting it, and she watched as his expressions showed he had decided. "I'll ask… I think a man like George Crabtree would understand, would be willing," he looked to her and said, "Our George is a hopeless romantic at heart…"

"George…?" she asked not having the slightest idea where this was going, and yet she just trusted and gave to him, "That he is."

William stood taller and explained, "Mr. Big Jim Walker – the slain dragon, as you say," he almost winked at her, "He can spend the night waiting to go to the Don Jail tomorrow morning in the Paddy Wagon in the stables… under the watchful guard of Constable Crabtree, if the constable is willing…"

She smiled and teased, "That is a bit unconventional," and she giggled. "Dare I ask your reasons detective – I am quite sure that the Inspector will?" she wondered.

"The Weist's could share a cell," he cleared his throat and added, "just the two of them alone together, in privacy." His sadness was back as he added, "So they can say their good-byes."

Such a pull on her heart, she saw the weight of it on William's soul. "A very good idea, William," she smiled.

"Mm," he nodded, fighting against the anguish he felt with even the tiniest glimpse of how he would feel if it were the two of them… "They'll have their last dance, as Mr. Beau Jangles might say," and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth and added, "They were each other's life, I think." And then he just nodded to her and turned and headed for the Inspector's door to set the plan in motion, leaving her to check on Big Jim Walker's sutures and bandages and such.

)

Walking out of the stationhouse together, Julia tucked her arm into William's. The press had gone, Inspector Brackenreid as well. It was quiet. "I set up the 'Stuffed Animal Classroom' for the girls tomorrow morning… to surprise them with after you and William Jr. set off for his first day of school," she reminded him.

After so much had happened, William _had forgotten that she had talked him into their buying some little toy student desks – and a small blackboard and chalk and an eraser and an abacus, and even a small, child-sized 'teacher's desk' too, all to create a "Stuffed Animal School" for the girls, for the children, to play with. Julia had explained it would help Katie, especially, with her jealousy over William Jr. being able to start school when she herself could not, at least not yet._ William had wanted to make the desks himself because he had found the prices of the toys to be shocking and extravagant, but she had convinced him otherwise, with William acquiescing quite easily, for in his brain there would always be a little voice telling him that, " _it was HER money and she should be able to spend it as she wants_." The discussion had been just one more time that he had been left with the hope that, despite their children being raised in such wealth, they would be able to value the more important things in life… that they would not hold in their hearts a feeling of entitlement.

"Very good," he thanked her. "You must be exhausted," he said to her, as her cab pulled up, and he reached to open the carriage door for her. He would be riding his bicycle home, so they would be parting, if only briefly. William tossed the bag she had brought earlier, now holding only the few unbloodstained items of his undercover clothes that had survived the night.

She took his hand as he prepared to help her get into the carriage, slipping close to him to reply, "I do believe, detective, there is not a soul in the world as tired as you probably are," before she kissed him and stepped up. _So winsome, it felt like one of those moments that was imprinting in her brain, in her heart…_

He tipped his larger brown cowboy hat to her and bowed, his beloved homburg on its hook in their foyer at home.

" _Funny_ ," she thought as the carriage started to move away, and her eyes felt the warmth and the sting of tears, " _how similar moments pull so many strings inside of us so quickly…"_ for she had remembered when he had ended up in Bristol England, unbeknownst to all of them here, and she _sat at her desk in the morgue seeing him in her mind's eye, tipping his hat as he does, as he had just done, and she had been so utterly, utterly heartbroken and desperate with her grieving for him, when he had been lost, and missing, and possibly dead. "Funny, how badly it hurts still,"_ she thought to herself. And a part of her, trying to toughen up and stop the tears, reasoned that _the memory had probably come just now because she had been so very afraid that he would be lost to her_ _ **this**_ _time,_ _ **this**_ _time when he was once again so brave, and good, and true. Her heart ached with loving this man, her William Henry Murdoch, THIS much._

) (

When Julia arrived home to their quiet house, she expected that everyone, even the nanny, would be sleeping, for it was past 1:00 in the morning. She found Claire-Marie sleeping in the guest bedroom next to the girl's bedroom, as was their custom when both she and William were out so late. Her light knock on the door woke the nanny, who jumped up, exclaiming, "Oh! I'm… I'm sorry doctor."

"Please Claire-Marie," Julia eased, "That's not necessary. I just wanted you to know that I'm home now and, if you would prefer, you can go back to your quarters."

"Katie's been having her nightmares, it seems," the nanny told.

"Oh," Julia's heart felt a tug, for the little one had suffered from such demons since back when she was in the orphanage. "I suppose… William's being in danger tonight… The children saw him off. It must have upset her…" Julia said, looking towards the girl's room. She glanced back to Claire-Marie, troubled, troubled but grateful. With a shouldering pinch to her lips, she nodded, "Thank you so much, Claire-Marie. In so many, many ways you are a wonderful, wonderful nanny for us," she acknowledged. "We truly cherish you," she added.

"Thank you doctor," Claire-Marie blushed, and then awkwardly curtsied, and then giggled, knowing it was too much. "Um…" the nanny looked to the bed, then back to her mistress, "I'll make up this bed and go back to my own, I think."

"Good," Julia smiled.

The two women said goodnight and Julia went directly to check on the girls.

Slowly, holding her breath, Julia pushed the bedroom door opened more than its crack…

Katie had heard. _She had been so badly hoping, wishing, longing, that her Mommy would come._

The only light in the room was from the warm, dim, hallway light through the half-opened bedroom door. Julia leaned down to give Katie a kiss and saw the child's eyes were opened. "You're awake, Sweetie," she said near a whisper, sitting on the little girl's bed.

Katie curled up into her lap, wallowed in her mother's softness in the almost darkness of the middle of the night. Julia kissed her hair, breathed in her smell. "Your Daddy is safe, Little One," she told as she rocked the child, knowing that that was what so worried her.

No words, Katie just squeezed tighter to her mother…

And Julia kissed her head, and said with her lips so close, "Everything's fine, just fine."

It seemed even little Chelsea was not sleeping at this late hour. Her sheets rustled as she stirred. Only three-years old, she sat up and searched for the shadowy figures she knew were there. "Mommy," her sweet little voice called.

"Yes, Little One, I'm here," Julia responded to her. "Come," she opened an arm to her.

And little Chelsea joined them on Katie's bed, Berry Bear in tow.

Directly, Chelsea asked after her father too, asking more specifically, "Daddy hurted?" for, already, this young child had learned that one could be safe, but that did not mean that they had not been hurt.

"Only his hand," Julia told her little daughters, "Your father's hand was injured…"

"Dwagon fired on it?" Chelsea rushed to worry.

"No. No, Sweetie," Julia hugged them both a bit closer, then pulled back to dash her eyes, first to one and then to the other, to reassure. "It was more from when your Daddy punched…"

Katie asked, her speaking now telling that she was feeling better, "Daddy punched the dragon? It hurted his hand?"

"Well," Julia answered, "Dragon's are very hard, you see," but then she thought better of playing at the fairytale ambiance and added, "But of course, there are no such thing as real dragons, and what your Daddy really punched was a very big, and very bad, man."

The yellowish light from the hallway suddenly widened from the doorway. William Jr.'s voice asked in a whisper, "Can I come in too?"

"Come," his mother invited him into their huddle, scooching over to make room for him.

Katie held to the intimacy and sweetness of the whispering and told her older brother, "Daddy beated the dragon, but he hurted his hand."

"Is he coming home?" William Jr. asked.

"Very soon," Julia answered. "He was riding his bicycle… You both will need it tomorrow morning… when you go to your first day of school," she reminded with a smile.

And then…

 _ **Flooding every heart in the room with relief…**_

William's knock at the door told them all that he was right there, he was standing right there, right now – that he was safe at home.

"Daddy!" the gleeful cries came from all three of the children nearly in unison.

Before they knew it, he was knelt down on one knee in front of them, offering each child a hug.

Katie noticed it first... "Daddy smells like smoke," she wondered, nose wrinkled disliking the smell.

Chelsea had smelled it too. Quick, despite her young age, she exclaimed, "Dwagon blewed fire on Daddy?!"

" _ **Amazing," both adults thought, such coincidence in the connection…**_

"No," William hurried to answer, "that's not it at all…"

William Jr. leaned down to smell the smoke for himself. "Is it true?" _he couldn't believe it_ , "But dragons aren't really real?"

William nodded, "No… No, they're not. It's not that **kind** of smoke. You see, where… um, where the man was, the bad man that I needed to catch, where he was there was a lot of smoke in the room… um, cigarette smoke," he corrected.

Excitedly William Jr. asked, "Did you catch him, Daddy?"

"I did," William responded simply.

Katie's eyes led everyone else's down to her father's bandaged hand. "But he hurted your hand…?" she said.

 _Now William's mind went into a dissertation of sorting out the ways that the answer to that question could be both 'yes' and 'no…'_

Julia answered, "Your Daddy HURT…" her stressing the word correcting the child's use of its tense, "his hand, when he punched the bad man…"

"So he could catch him?" William Jr. checked.

"Yes," she nodded, and then Julia added, with as much confidence and calmness in her voice as she could muster, her own mind sending her _a flash of the memory of the humungous man sagging the cot in the jailcell half-way down to the floor,_ "And to protect himself from getting hurt by the bad man too."

Katie looked to her mother. Admiringly she asked her, "And you fixed Daddy's hand, Mommy?"

"Yes, I did," she smiled.

Chelsea bounced at her side and declared, "Doctor Mommy!"

"Yes," Julia chuckled, looking to her husband who smiled back at her. _Winsome, the man could be winsome_ …

William bowed quickly to her and said, "And so much more."

The parents held to each other's eyes in the faint light for a second which seemed much longer…

"Now," Julia said, standing, lifting Katie with her, "I do believe we have a big day tomorrow, and we Murdoch's need to get into our beds and get to sleep, hmm?"

William lifted Chelsea off of Katie's bed, kissed her as he carried her to her bed and lowered her down to nestle in. Sweetly, he kissed Berry Bear goodnight too.

William Jr. and Julia watched from the doorway as he kissed Katie goodnight too, and then he joined them in the hallway and he closed the door, leaving it opened just that perfect sliver of a crack.

A few short moments later, William Jr., too, was tucked in, comfy and sleepy, in his bed, and his parents stood together, whispering, out in hall.

"Katie had a nightmare," she told William.

His wrinkle at the corner of his mouth all he needed to say, for he regretted, deeply, worrying her, but too, there was nothing to be done about it but to love her and reassure her that everything was fine, and that had been done.

Julia wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling flirtatious. _The scent of the smoke on him registered, and then she remembered she had smelled it earlier when they were at the stationhouse, but there had been so much going on it had passed by unmentioned inside of her head_. "Detective…"

His hands, even the bandaged one, slipped up smoothly to hold her behind the small of her back and then he pulled her into him tight. "Doctor," he answered, following suit.

Her lips whispered close, "I do believe you will be needing a shower to wash off all of that dragon blood and fire-breathing dragon smoke."

"Mm," he responded, letting her go.

Together, they walked the short distance to their bedroom.

Inside, alone, door closed…

 _Oh, she had not expected the lusty wave, so badly she wanted him, him all over her, her all over him, deeply, carnally, urgently, she wanted to love him, every single inch of him._ Julia stepped intimately close to him and seductively began to undo his tie for him.

So fiery, she said, "Perhaps I should help you, detective, to save time. It is quite late now, and we must rise early."

He argued, his eyes darkening, breath hotter, more rushed, surging out of him, and his voice scratching with the desire that stole his blood away, aimed so specifically, so lusciously, down into his groin, "Often milady, it does not save time when you… ' _ **help**_.'"

 _She almost giggled,_ and then with a sigh, Julia agreed to acquiesce, reluctantly but willingly letting go of his tie. "I suppose you're right," she uttered the words, disappointed. Her back to him, she began to undress.

And William Murdoch was stuck, captured, watching her… regretting, _wishing…_ A flash of a memory, _Julia bent over the Fenwick's billiard's table, him wanting her so badly his knees felt weak, there, out in public, in front of everyone. He could have her now…_

He managed to clear his throat, find a few words whirling around in his soupy brain, enough to tell her…

"We… uh, well, perhaps with my hand being injured…" _he hoped it was enough._

"I see," she said, so sexy, the way she answered him, the way she then dropped her skirts to the floor, her backside to him, _not necessary to bend… to bend over like that, to drop them there… as she did…_

William swallowed, the jolting wham of it pulling him down to the floor, and he fought the falling with nearly everything he had.

But when she turned back to him, when he saw the wanting in her eyes, well then, then, it was hopeless, the floor gone, the delicious floating and plummeting underway now. Her breath warm as it flowed over him, she whispered, "I suggest, in the shower."

All he could manage, William nodded, and his beautiful wife, who adored him so, giggled, and then took him by the hand to drag him into the bathroom.

So quickly, together, in the hot, humid, steamy, cascading whoosh of the falling, crystal-clear water, warm and lush, with bare skin drenched in the slipperiness of the soap, each reaching the point of unbearable desire, William quietly made his request, his eyes to hers, the gaze formidable with the promise between them of honesty and trust, the nakedness of the simple fact of it so beautiful that it stole the breath away. His hand pushed gently at her shoulder, wanting her to turn, to turn to face the wall for him…

Julia smiled, for she knew this man down to his soul, knew his most hidden, darkest, secret desires. She turned, pressed herself against the hard, cold, rigid, tiles of the shower wall, and opened to him. Everything else in the world gone now, William stepped, leaned, pressed against her behind, covered her while locking her hips in his grasp, pinned her tight against the wall, and he breathed wild and primal down her neck. It was ensured now. And there was nothing, nothing but the pure sweetness of the rupture, and then the magnificence of the ebb and the flow, powerful, all-ensuing, gasps and moans and grunts of desperation with the need to get closer, drowned in the luring pull of the ebb and the thundering push of the flow, building and building, until their deepest cores could withstand not one iota more of the pleasure, and all the world burst, releasing the most succulent, moist, tender, flood of glowing warmth to spread and sink, and gush through, to spill into their every cell with the deliciousness of their shared touch, bonding them forever, and forever, and forever, after that.

Not much later, dried off, naked skin silky clean, tired and content to the bone, they slipped under their sheets together and dropped away, as soon as their heads touched to their cool, soft pillows, into that rocking, sweet heaven of sleep.

) (

The next day the Toronto Gazette's top-of-the-fold, front page, headline read, "Murdoch Unfooled by Minstrel Show Owner's Last Performance." The story reported that Mr. Weist had confessed to killing the Negro performer, Mr. Ernie Williams and framing the victim's Negro partner, Mr. Beau Jangles, for the crime. The article explained how the crime was committed, likening Mr. Weist's 'performance' while committing the crime to that of an actor 'performing' on the stage. The paper also told that Mr. Weist's wife had confessed to helping him pull the whole thing off. The motive given for the killing was that the Weist's suspected the victim had "behaved inappropriately with their daughter." There was no mention of Deputy Minister King.

But by far the most interesting headline on the day after the murderers had confessed was not one of Miss Cherry's, or any of the other major news reporters' headlines either, for all of those simply reported the facts without alluding to their own mistakes in reporting on the 'Negro-Killer' case. No, the best headline was that of Madge Merton, in the Toronto Daily Star. It read, " _ **Toronto's Favorite Couple Serves Press a Healthy Dose of Humble Pie."**_ The story went on to say that Detective Murdoch's wife had called it right when she had told Miss Cherry, "If Detective Murdoch says there is evidence that Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, then Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, I assure you." The article said that "exactly as Dr. Ogden had predicted, her brilliant and handsome and dashing husband solved the crime, exactly as she had said he would, and for doing so, we here at the Toronto Daily Star say he deserves our accolades."

) (

The bicycle had been rested against the schoolyard fence. William stood with William Jr., the first day of school now right before them. He looked down at his young son, the boy's nose only slightly swollen and his two black eyes less noticeable. William Murdoch was proud, and grateful, and excited, and so very, very happy. He gave his Little Man a smile.

"What if no one likes me?" William Jr. worried.

"They will," his father answered confidently, "Don't worry." William squatted down in front of his son. He could not possibly have been happier. There was a flash inside of him ' _seeing his future' all those years ago – "Twice,"_ he reminded himself, _"Yes, in Professor Harm's Time Machine,"_ but also when he _had imagined himself hunting dinosaur fossils with his family. Both times, he had dreamed he'd have a son – a son AND Julia Ogden. Stunning really, that such a dream could come true, breathtaking that their two daughters filled their lives even more…_

"Little Man," William advised his son as he reached into his pocket with his better hand and pulled out his handkerchief, inside of it waited Mr. Beau Jangles' carved wooden bird in flight. "I promise you that if you are true to your heart, you will find whatever it is in this world that makes your heart soar, and when you find it, you'll do whatever you have to for it, even if that means risking getting hurt… In a sense," he said, "you will find that you must risk getting sore in order to truly soar… that it is worth it, for what you find is meaningful and important in life." He passed the still-wrapped bird over to his injured hand and reached up to rub his thumb under one of William Jr.'s black-eyes, reminding of the boy's recent adventure facing down the bullies, and the subsequent suffering he had had as a result of it. "Do you regret saving the birds?" he asked him.

The young boy shook his head 'no,' for he did not.

"Would you do it again, despite your having gotten hurt because of it?" William pressed his point.

The boy nodded, for he would.

"Some people you come across in your life will not like you. That is not what matters," William told as he opened up his handkerchief to show his son the bird. "What matters is those that do – and more importantly, those that you love. You will find that THEY will make your life worth living, THEY will make you count your lucky stars and your good blessings… It is through being with THEM, that your very soul will take flight." He handed him the bird, watching on as William Jr.'s eyes perused it, growing wide with delight. His small fingers stroked the carved feathers, and then he lifted his head and looked brightly into his father's eyes. "I want you to have this to remember the quests that will come in your life… to look for them and to treasure them," he told. William stood and placed his hand on his son's head, and he encouraged, "Learn all you can, for you will someday use it for good, and when you do, you will feel like that bird, like you are doing what you were born to do, that you are being the best YOU that you can be."

"I will father," William Jr. vowed, sensing the moment, the token, had significance. The boy tucked the bird into his pocket and glanced to the school building, bustling with the unknown. He glanced back at his father _realizing that the butterflies he felt were not necessarily bad. "Like birds are meant to fly, butterflies are meant to flutter_ ," he thought. William Jr. pinched his lips together, something solid setting into his expression. "I will," he gave. And then he looked back to where William had rested the bicycle against the fence…

And William knew his son was ready for him to go.

"Remember Eloise will be right here to walk home with you," he said. And then he added, "You'll tell us all the stories, won't you… over a delicious supper, hmm?"

"I will," William Jr. nodded.

William gestured towards the school. "Go on then," he said…

The boy smiled nervously back at him and then turned to go.

"Have a good day," William called after him.

Not turning back, William Jr. replied, "I will father."

And William wrinkled a corner of his mouth at himself as he stood there and watched his son walking into his life. Mrs. Weist's words suddenly entered his head, " _It was like a part of me, like my heart or my arm, was out there in the world where I couldn't keep it safe…"_ He swallowed back the rush of emotions, and he went to the bicycle. _Fortunately, he had another mission to occupy his mind – "Julia's present!" Mr. Ducharme would be at his shop early to meet him… "It had finally come in!"_

) (

The gift the detective had designed for his wife was so exquisite that Oscar Ducharme had asked the notably good-looking man if he would allow him to have many of them made so he could sell them in his shop. Detective Murdoch had agreed, actually giving Ducharme two different versions of his inlaid wood, "I Think of You" hand mirror to send off to a craftsman to have made in bulk. _The idea was brilliant, and from what Oscar knew of this man, his beloved Dr. Ogden's husband and soulmate, that should have come as no surprise._

According to the detective's ingenious design, the mirror itself was a 'thought-bubble,' a thought-bubble in a man's mind. And, the way the detective had drawn it out, the man was at the bottom of the hand mirror, a dark silhouette, either a man in a suit on a bicycle, or in the second version, a man in a suit walking along with his hands in his pockets. Rising up from the man's head, which by the way donned a homburg in the same style as the handsome detective always wore, was a growing trail of bubbles, each inlaid with tiny mirrors, leading to the large and final mirror itself, which would hold the woman's reflection… Thus 'the man' would be _**thinking of**_ the woman who looked at herself in the mirror. Fittingly, around the boarder at the top of the hand mirror, in the same dark wood as the silhouette of the man, were the words, "I Think of You." The plan for the reverse side of the hand mirror called for an inlaid bouquet of 'forget-me-not' flowers, in the purplish-blue hues of turquoise and purple amethyst, with jade for the green leaves and stems, all tied up in an oak-wood yellow bow.

 _Like he had originally thought – "exquisite_ ," Ducharme thought to himself as he laid eyes upon the final products. _"Every wealthy toff in Toronto will want to buy one for his wife… And Oh…!"_ an exciting addendum appeared in his mind _, "And his lovers."_ And further, _most importantly, he was certain that the detective would be pleased, as would be the good doctor,_ he thought fondly to himself of 'Toronto's Favorite Couple.'

There was a knock at the shop's front door. _Oscar figured it was the detective_. He excitedly invited him in and led him back to the 'exclusive' section of his shop.

"You kept the suit and the homburg," William smiled as his eyes glistened, peering down at both of the mirrors Ducharme had left out for him. He leaned closer, examining them in more detail.

"Yes, detective… we tried to keep everything exactly as you drew it. I find them to be marvelous…" Oscar said _, fishing for the man's satisfaction that he anticipated._

Lifting the mirror with the longer handle, the one with the silhouette of the man walking, William flipped it over to see the inlaid bouquet of 'forget-me-nots.' _He almost gasped at the beauty of it_. "Very good," he gave to the man who had brought his imaginings to fruition, "Very good." But then, looking down at the image of himself on the bicycle, suit jacket tails flying in the wind, _he imagined his lovely Julia seeing her own beautiful face in the bubbled thoughts of his tiny silhouetted self…_ Wham, a memory flared, _their bedroom door shut, hard, between them, him pleading with her through the door, to believe him, begging her to see that he DID want to kiss her when they were in front of the fountain and the children were insisting, vowing to her, then, that he wanted to kiss her all the time, kiss her and much more. He had told her the utmost truth then, for he thought of her all the time. And he wondered if it might have been easier for her them, if he had given her this gift before that night…_ And then, this next memory from much longer ago, auditory at first, inside of his head _, he heard Julia's voice, misty and deep, "I think of you…" And he recognized it from when Enid had given him a pot of flowers for in his office, and Julia was simply naming the flowers_ _, but it had stopped his breath and thunderbolted his heart for that briefest moment, for he had assumed that she was telling him that she thought of him… just as he thought of her all the time, even though they were parted, and he had hoped, for a second, that she still loved…_

Ducharme interrupted William's thoughts, "Were you ' **thinking of her** ' right now, detective, I wonder?"

Those big brown eyes of William's focused, _coming back_ , and then he rubbed at his brow, _uncomfortable with being so SEEN._ He pinched his lips together and admitted, after he rushed to clear his throat, "I was," and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth…

And if Oscar Ducharme were not already smitten with the man, he would have tumbled head-over-heels in love with him right then. "I am quite certain, detective, that our Julia will treasure them always," he changed the subject. Shall I put the two of them together in the same giftbox?" he asked.

"Yes," William answered, placing the two mirrors down together on the counter. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small sealed envelope that he had, gratefully, prepared long before he had encountered 'the dragon,' Big Jim Walker, and thus injured his hand…

Ducharme gasped, "Ah! A love note! Très Magnifique!" Then, gathering up the two different versions of the hand mirrors, he pinched his fingers to the detective's note, admiring it, and added, "I will put this inside the box with the two mirrors, très jolie, très, très, jolie."

While William waited, he searched the backmost, fairly isolated section of the shop for where Julia had told him Ducharme had secured her IUDs. He found the glass case. It was locked as Julia had described. Inside there were many of the smaller, more unique, items Oscar Ducharme offered in his shop– some probably extremely expensive jewels, there was a charming music box… He discerned three or four of the IUDs in the deepest part of the lower shelf, discrete and unassuming, _the small twists of copper struck him as being uninteresting compared to the neighboring items._ A small sign in front them read, **"Snake Charms – fertility and rebirth through empowerment and freedom. Speak to management."** William wrinkled a corner of his mouth to himself, " _Tells and doesn't tell,"_ he thought…

Meanwhile, Oscar Ducharme greedily had snuck to his backroom, out of sight, and then lifted the detective's envelope with the love note inside of it up to the bright lightbulb near the ceiling. " _Oh_ ," he whispered to himself inside of his head, seeing that he could make out the words, " _This will work_." He needed to get the note closer to the bulb, so he stood on a chair and read through the paper barrier…

 _ **I think of you, Julia, when you are not around and when you are right there. I seem to always have you in my mind…**_

 _ **When it is day and when it is night, when I am wrong and when I am right. When I'm in a crowd and when I'm alone, when I cheer loud and when I softly moan. When it is light and when it is dark, when I have bite and when I'm all bark. When I'm only walking and when I'm on my bicycle, when I'm simply gushing or I'm just a shy trickle. When I feel happy, and when I feel glum, when I brood silent and when I must hum. When I'm in my chair and when I'm in the bed, when I am open and when I'm in my head. When I am hungry and when I am full, when I'm with a suspect or a constable. In the city or in the countryside, with you away or even by my side. Whether we are together, whether we are apart, you are in my mind and you are in my heart.**_

 _ **You are IN me Julia, and so I find, I cannot do otherwise than think of you just about all of the time.**_

Finishing the poem, out-loud to himself, Oscar declared, feeling giddy, "Exquisite! Exquisite! Julia's detective is a poet! This is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful." Despite a part of his brain telling him he needed to hurry, he gave into the urge to read the note again. Savoring the poem once more, he finished, and then remarked to himself, "Honestly, who would have thought it," shaking his head to himself with his own surprise.

Ducharme wrapped the gift, love poem tucked inside, and then hurried himself to get back to the detective.

William heard Ducharme approaching from behind him.

"Here you are, Detective Murdoch. All finished," Oscar Ducharme said. He remembered that _Julia had conveyed to him that she had NOT told her husband the details of her 'research,'_ so Oscar's stomach flipped a somersault with nausea for he had noticed what it was, exactly, that the detective was examining so closely. _His words came out too rushed, too high pitched_ , he worried _, as he heard them out in the air of the shop, and he suddenly was so very glad that they were alone,_ "The serpent has symbolized fertility and rebirth since the beginning of time."

William caught Ducharme's eye and nodded.

The uneasiness felt stifling, for in that moment, Oscar Ducharme _decided that the detective knew exactly what it was that he was looking at, and therefore it would be pointless to pretend otherwise._ He added, sticking to the serpent-like shape of the doctor's contraceptive IUD coils, "In the Hindu tradition the snake has represented freedom… um… because it cannot be tamed."

"Apropos, to say the least," William answered him with a winsome bow.

Each man sighed in unison.

"She told you," Ducharme said.

William nodded, "She did, eventually," he said, then added, "gratefully."

Ducharme replied, "I cannot tell you how much I admire her. To be a doctor, and to do something so remarkable, to help so many…"

And William pinched his lips together with the slightest hint of a smile. "As do I," he gave.

The two men left it at that, both returning to the front of the shop. William asked to have the gift delivered to Julia's University office, preferring that he NOT be with her when she opened his gifts, when she read, to herself, his love note.

) (

Chipper, the Inspector walked through the bullpen twirling his cane. There were multiple newspapers tucked under an arm, and he greeted each man by name. A quick knock to Murdoch's door, he noticed his best man was in the midst of deciphering what looked to be a letter.

"It was in this morning's mail," Murdoch explained. "No return address. It was mailed from the States – Birmingham," he added.

"Isn't that where Lady Jane Grey's Charm School is located?" the Inspector asked, stepping in.

"It is," Murdoch answered plainly. His eyes dropped down to the letter.

Brackenreid noticed it appeared to be written by a child. His mind rushed to _consider the street urchin who had delivered the letters between the principals in the case, but then he remembered that that boy was entirely illiterate…_

William swallowed, cleared his throat, and told, "It's from Mr. Beau Jangles, sir. I believe he taught himself to read and write."

"Well, that explains it," Brackenreid replied. "Do you think he met up with the daughter?" he queried.

Murdoch shrugged a shoulder. "The letter gives no indication of that," he offered. William left unsaid his deepest hope, that Beau Jangles had managed to find a way to be there for Adelaide, so that she would not be alone in the world after having lost so much, and still too, having so very much to bear on the road ahead. Murdoch took a deep breath and placed the letter down on his work table. His eyes glanced to the newspapers under the Inspector's arm and he said, "The letter… Mr. Beau Jangles' letter, says pretty much what those headlines say… He was truly innocent all along. Helen Weist was the one who drugged him on the night of the murder…" Murdoch shrugged again and said, "He says he didn't know who Ernie Williams had fallen in love with…"

"But you suspect otherwise, don't ya me ole mucker?" Brackenreid noted.

"I guess, sir," Murdoch answered, adding, "I hope so, anyway," and then wrinkling a corner of his mouth admitting to caring.

The Inspector lifted out the pile of newspapers from under his arm and gave them a championed tap. "Well Murdoch, once again, job well done," he gave.

"Thank you, sir," Murdoch nodded.

The Inspector took his leave, and William returned his attention to Mr. Beau Jangles' letter. So much danced about in his mind as he reread it again – _the little wooden bird he had just passed along to his son… his hearing from up on the staircase down into the cells, Mr. Beau Jangles dancing, all alone, dancing in his cell, condemned and beaten, but still, the man danced… and finding the photograph of Beau Jangles with his dog in the old, unconscious man's pocket that night when he had been so compelled to determine that the innocent man was the killer – simply because he was an old man, and drunk, so much like Harry that he had been blinded, and even though they were in the midst of one of the biggest crises in their relationship, it was Julia, Julia, who had softly pulled at him to be better… "well, perhaps not that softly,"_ he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at himself, _remembering the fire in his wife_. William rubbed at his brow. Once more, he focused on interpreting the words, on finding the messages in the letter, the letter from the wise and sageful man who had looked to him to be the eyes of age, this old, Negro man, who so easily and poignantly spoke right out, and in doing so he talked of life, he talked of life…

 _ **Detectiv, yur conchens be clere, for yu did not let a gilty man go free. Mrs. Weist is the won hu gave me the lodnum. I cood not tell yu becuz I fered I wood be lynched for drinkin with a wite marede woman alone in my rume. Also Mrs. Weist cood be the won hu kild Ernie cuz she tokd two him secret like a fu times and she sent him notes two. This was after Ernie fel in luv with sumwon els. I dont no hu. I poot Dunbars poem in this let-her two cuz I thot it wood giv yu sympathy for me, so yu wood understand wie I had to flee, wie I had to be free. For yu, detectiv, the won hu holds the dark bak for others to liv in the lite, I poot in the poem about the caged bird. Yu and me, we is free. But I be all alone, since my dog upend died. I always danced alone, sept for when I danced with Ernie. Ernie wur like a sun two me. But yu dance with yur wife, two becumin won. Yu. Yu be cowntin yur bles sins. Yu got a woman hu luvs yu something fearse, a prity and smart and nobul woman. And I nos yu luv hur with all yur hart, so yu be shur to take hur in yur arms and yu dance with hur, detectiv. Cuz to be in yur truluvs arms, and flote hur world. Wel detectiv, that be wen yu no for shur, two liv, two liv is two dance.**_

He held the note in his fingers and let his mind travel. He imagined it then, _what he would do tonight. He would set it all up ahead of time – the phonograph, the lit torches out in their backyard… He'd call it the "Backyard Barefoot Ball." He would surprise her, after the children were asleep…_

Then William's eyes found the enclosed copy of Laurence Dunbar's poem, "Sympathy." Mr. Beau Jangles had generously sacrificed it for him, ripping it out of a book… _probably one of the only books the man owned_. William read it…

 _I know what the caged bird feels, alas!_

 _When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;_

 _When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,_

 _And the river flows like a stream of glass;_

 _When the first bird sings and the first bud opens,_

 _And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—_

 _I know what the caged bird feels!_

 _I know why the caged bird beats his wing_

 _Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;_

 _For he must fly back to his perch and cling_

 _When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;_

 _And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars_

 _And they pulse again with a keener sting—_

 _I know why he beats his wing!_

 _I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,_

 _When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—_

 _When he beats his bars and he would be free;_

 _It is not a carol of joy or glee,_

 _But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,_

 _But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—_

 _I know why the caged bird sings!_

Tenderly, he folded the paper to close away the words, and William's heart sank heavy and broken, for _he knew, knew in his bones, why the bird trapped in the cage sang, for it is the male bird who sings. And William knew that he sang to call his lover. And she would never come. And he imagined himself as the bird in the cage, and he was calling for Julia. And eventually, he knew, there would come an acceptance of the truth, the truth that his lover was not coming, that she would never come, and that he would live his whole life alone, and so, he sang for desperation, he sang for longing, he sang as one wails with unbearable hurt._ It was within William's remaining sitting there, alone, with his contemplation deep, that he moved that final inch, for then _he imagined himself as that defeated and broken bird in that cage, and he saw himself, he felt himself, begin to sing._ And then he thought that, _maybe, maybe, the bird sang because somewhere deep inside, he did feel hope, for otherwise, why continue to try, why continue to sing?_ And William remembered _Julia telling him about the significance of her illegal study, and how it was as if all women, each woman, every woman since the beginning of time, had been locked away in a cage, and Julia's invention, her discovery, IT was the key that could unlock the cage and let each woman be free._ And he smiled, for he _felt it to be true – there was always, there always would be, it seemed, hope._

) (

After their supper, William and his three children played downstairs, waiting for the woman of the house to arrive home from teaching her University class. The Murdoch children were completely enamored with Julia's "Stuffed Animal Classroom." William Jr. had used the opportunity to show them all what he had learned during his first day at real school, greatly enjoying 'teaching' at the blackboard.

They heard the front door…

All the little one's eyes bolted to meet their father's…

His nod released them, and they burst up the stairs. Well, that is all but the littlest one, Chelsea, who inevitably trailed behind. She stood in front of her Daddy, lifting her arms to him, requesting a ride.

"Let's go, Peaches," William said to her as he whisked her up into his arms. "Mommy will want her hug and kiss."

Once William and Chelsea made it to the top of the stairs, William put his youngest daughter down to watch her rush into her mother's waiting arms. He held back and just watched the scene, so lovely and simple and pure and good.

With her littlest still clung around her neck, Julia lifted her gaze from where she was knelt down near the foyer table. Her eyes met those of her _rather wonderful husband_ , and then glanced to the tabletop.

William followed her glance. _There, next to her hat, was the pretty box – his gift._

He said, not moving from where he stood, "So, do you like your present then, doctor?"

Her eyes held so tightly to his eyes as she stood, softly resting her three-year old's feet back down on the ground. _Her tone, her air, the way she moved, the way she said it, shot two divergent paths inside of him, one straight for the groin, the other straight for the heart, darkening his eyes, taking away his breath._ "My present, and my past, as well as my future, _WITH YOU_ , William Murdoch. Yes, I like them ALL very much," she answered him. Close now, she said quietly, "It, they… the note, they are all truly stunning, William. It is a beautiful, beautiful, gift. Honestly, you've outdone yourself," she vowed, both of the adults feeling the tug of knowing that their three small children stared, goo-goo eyed, as they watched on. She kissed him, dwelling on his lips long enough, with such a tender, tender, smooching, that its little ' _click_ ' tickled out into the air when she let the kiss go.

Then, their mother stepped out of their father's arms and invited, "Would the three Little Ones like to see the gifts Daddy gave to me today?"

Bouncing, jumping, hopping… All three children surrounded the pretty box that they had noticed waiting there on the foyer table.

"Yes Mommy!" William Jr. exclaimed.

"Yes! Yes!" Katie on his heels, "Please!" she added as an afterthought, _remembering to be polite._

"Me too," that adorable Little Chelsea said with a pout, stretching up on her tippy-toes to get a better view of the present.

William and Julia walked together to the table, and William joined in on the watching as Julia opened the box and laid out the two hand mirrors for them all to see.

"It looks like Daddy…!" Katie exclaimed, pointing to the silhouette of the man at the bottom of one of the mirrors, "on his bicycle!"

"This one too," William Jr. added, drawing attention to the other mirror, the one with the man walking with his hands in his pockets.

"William…," Julia marveled, "The man is wearing a homburg – honestly, it really does look like you…?"

"I designed them to give to you, and I drew out my ideas… and then I asked Mr. Ducharme if he could have them made, um… for you. He liked them… Wanted to offer them to all his customers, so…" William explained.

Julia chuckled, _for she would tease her husband now_. "It see…" she replied, and then she leaned close to William's ear and said, "It seems every woman in Toronto will be thrilled to have the very dashing Detective William Murdoch _**'thinking of HER,**_ ' then."

 _Quick, Julia Ogden's husband was quick,_ he replied wryly, "Only the very wealthy ones."

 _And, oh my, how his eyes twinkled when they played._

She smiled at him. Then she gave, "I do suppose they would be quite dear… I mean the cost of the jade alone, not to mention the… Is it amethyst…?"

"And turquoise," he answered her.

She reached to take one of the mirrors in her hand and show the children the reverse side.

"So pretty!" Katie exclaimed.

"Pritty! Pritty!" her younger sister piped in.

"Do you want to see?" Julia asked, and both girls nodded profusely.

And for the first time that little Chelsea could ever remember in her short little life, it was **William Jr.** who worried, "Me too…! Can I see one too?"

"You can," Julia promised him, as she turned the first mirror to the frontside and handed it to Katie. "Be careful," she reminded. She then handed the other mirror to Chelsea. And then, ensuring that the precious mirror was not accidentally dropped, Julia knelt down on a knee and guided Chelsea's fingers to hold the handle firmly – this one the silhouette of the man walking, with her small fingers. "Do you see yourself?" she asked.

Chelsea nodded.

Katie did too.

"That means the man… the one under the mirror, is thinking about YOU… inside of his head," Julia explained. She helped Chelsea turn her mirror over to see the bouquet on the other side.

"Puw-ple," the little child gasped, loving the color.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Julia asked, soaking in the delighted look of the child.

Katie offered her mirror to William Jr., sometimes being very good at sharing.

Her brother's big brown eyes focused intensely on the letters along the upper-border. "I t-tik…" William Jr. tried to read the words around the mirror.

William leaned down and pointed to each letter as he read it aloud for his son, "I… think… of… you. That part…" his finger returned to rest under the beginning of the word 'think,' "sounds like 'thu'…"

"I see," William Jr. responded confidently. And then _he put together the 'thu' and the rest that he could see clearly now – the '_ _ **ink,**_ _' inside of his mind_ and he said, "Thu-ink… Think. I think of you."

"Exactly," his father encouraged. Then William remembered William Jr.'s 'teaching' downstairs in the playroom, and he said, "You know, I believe your mother would quite enjoy seeing your 'lesson' about what you learned in school today…"

"Oh yes, Mommy," William Jr. turned to her. "I can show you on the 'stuffed animal' chalkboard.

"I'd be delighted," Julia gleed.

The parents replaced the mirrors into the box and the Murdoch's headed downstairs.

Most of William Jr.'s 'lesson' was still written out on the board – 'hat' with a drawing of a hat, 'cat' with a drawing of a cat, and 'bat' with a drawing of a baseball bat. As their son's lesson drew near its end, Julia noticed that William had moved off to a corner of the playroom. _He seemed to be contemplating something…_

 _ **She really never could have guessed...**_

"Julia," he called to her, not looking away from the wall.

She and the children joined him, puzzled.

"Yes," she said.

"A pool-table…" he said, using his hands to demonstrate the space he intended to use. "We could fit a pool-table here… don't you think?" he explained further, and then shook his head and adjusted, "Well no, you'd need room to make a shot from that edge as well. Closer to the middle…" he stepped back, "I still figure it could fit…"

His wife shook her head, dashing his hopes somewhat. However, there was an edge that forewarned, for it seemed that she had every intention of teasing him as well. "William," she gave, "I understand you enjoy the game, and as I expected, you are quite good at it…" but then such a sly smile formed on her face…

 _And he prepared for a zinger…_

"But honestly William, another game in which you enjoy chasing a ball around with a stick, and trying to get it into a tiny hole… I only hope all your fancy pool cues don't end up at the bottom of the lake with all of your golf clubs," she giggled.

And he frowned.

"Oh," she took to giggling all over again, "But I did quite like the outfit, those close-cut brown knickers, and that cute little hat – Oh! and those flashy argyle socks over your skinny little ankles… You cut quite a nice figure in your golfing outfit, I dare say… almost as attractive as you in those baseball knickerbockers…"

"You liked those did you?" he charmed her, pulling her into his arms, accepting her, _likely wise_ , discouragement of his latest fancy. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and said, "I suppose you are right, best leave it be."

With the decision made, it was unexpected when their three children took to protesting.

"But Mom," William Jr. complained, "Daddy could make the pool-table fit."

And Katie's words rushed to argue, "And William Jr. loves swimming!" and then she added, "And me and Chelsea want to learn too…"

"Too cold," little Chelsea imitated shivering, wrapping her imaginary towel around herself, somehow appearing to turn blue.

"Please Mom," William Jr. begged at his mother's skirts, suspecting that it was she who was the obstacle to his father's pool-table dream.

The parents shared a look, so much expressed, humor, love and adoration for these bight children that they were so blessed to have, to share, in their lives… and somehow Julia's look also saying 'no' more clearly…

What she could not know was what it was that she was now saying 'no' to now, for her husband's mind had jumped, jumped to making this _**swimming-pool**_ -table for his family.

" _I would need to make a current you could swim into… It could work – with a motor and propellers at one end to pump the water, and water return chambers at the other end to bring the water back in a loop underneath the pool…"_ his brain had begun to work out the details of the small 'in-place' swimming pool. _"It wouldn't need to be that deep… I'd need a grill or some such feature that could keep the 'pool' part separated from, safe from, the spinning turbines of the motor…"_

Stuck there in his arms, children tugging at her skirts pleading for something that did not exist, Julia frowned and considered her fate. She chose to leave the children be for the moment…

"William Murdoch," her voice scolded, "Whatever it is your brilliant mind is conjuring, the answer is still 'no.' I would like this playroom to be a playroom for the children… **for the children,** William…"

His brown eyes returned to touch to hers, and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her. "I suppose you are right," he gave once again.

"Good," she kissed his cheek, and then turned to the children. "Little Ones, Little Ones," she addressed them, "The type of "pool" your Daddy was talking about was not a 'swimming' pool. Besides, we have a wonderful swimming pool at the Club… you know that. Thanks to your Aunt Ruby, who pays our membership there, hmm?"

Their moans and disappointed faces drooped.

"And the beach," she cheered.

And then she looked over to the 'stuffed animal classroom.' "Now," her tone changed the subject, "Shall we play with what wonderful things we do have here in the playroom…?" She looked to Katie and encouraged, "Perhaps Mistress Kathryn would like to teach the class today?"

William wrapped an arm around his wife and said, "I'll warm-up your supper," and he gave her kiss, offering to allow her time to play a little longer.

"That would be delightful," she whispered to him, before he took his leave.

)

Later that night, the children tucked into bed, Julia caught up with recording the most recent data for her research study. While she did this William snuck out to light the torches in their backyard for his surprise 'Backyard Barefoot Ball.' Out there on such a beautiful night, he paused to stare up at the stars. He pondered, amongst the fresh scents, and the soft breeze, and the crickets chirping, on how _the light from those stars had traveled such unimaginably vast distances to get here to this tiny planet he stood on – the space covered so far away that the light would have had to have left those stars even before this planet yet existed_. _"Perhaps,"_ he thought, " _those stars no longer even exist, having burned out eons ago, the story told of their demise not here yet, all that remains of them being that long, thin, beam of light…"_ The term _'star-crossed lovers'_ appeared in his mind, and he wondered to himself _if he and Julia truly were MEANT to fall in love, as it had always, always, felt to him. "Certainly,"_ he thought, _"they were not star-crossed in the full meaning of the term, for they had managed to be together, despite the odds…"_ Suddenly, he felt called to go down into his workroom and do his part, his part in creating the invention that they would use to serve as the 'fake study,' the decoy, for what Julia had really been doing all along, _not consciously realizing that his fear of their getting caught in doing exactly this constituted the latest "odds" that threatened to tear them apart._

)

Only moments later he stood in front of his blackboard, adding new details as ideas came, sloppily though, for he was writing with his left hand. A flash of memory sparked in his mind, of him reading Mr. Beau Jangles' note… In his own internal voice, he heard it, as he saw the words, " _ **won hu holds the dark bak for others to liv in the lite**_ …" the poor spelling and penmanship reminding him slightly of his own messy writing right before him on the board. _"True,_ " he thought, " _I do do that..."_ and he pinched a corner of his mouth at himself thinking, " _Julia does that too, as a pathologist, as a psychiatrist, even as a doctor, in some ways, but most certainly as an activist, a sort of rebel, fighting for the oppressed in the world, fighting against the world's injustices. Her IUD study, this invention of hers, it could peel back the darkness to open women, women and men really, too, to the light of personal freedom…_ "

" _So then get to it, William_ ," he coached himself to be more productive.

A big sigh escaped as he focused on the currently troubling part – the probe itself. _It will need a longer probe,_ rather than the round one he had based this idea on, the one he gave Julia all those years ago, to find bullets inside of a body. _Ideally, it will send out different wavelengths of sound from multiple rows on the probe. The user could hold the probe in place on the woman's body and then send the soundwaves downward. They will reflect back and be detected and then recorded on the TELEvision monitor, creating a strip of data. Then the user could lower the probe to a new part of the woman's body, just directly under the one just done, and collect another strip of data that will appear on the TELEvision monitor under the first. Repeat to make an image. It will be like the 'Identikit' that creates facial composites of criminals or persons wanted for questioning by combining strips of parts of faces…_

Julia's voice behind him interrupted…

"You could at least take off your tie, detective," she flirted.

He watched her as she walked up to him and took to playing seductively with loosening his tie. She kissed at his ear and teased further, "Honestly, still in this vest too," as she rubbed her hands across the muscular contours of his chest, her fingers discovering his badge. Tilting back from him, she watched herself stroking it, and then, while admiring the cool, sleek, metal of the badge, she said, "The Constabulary has their policeman wear it in the wrong place," and her eyes caught his that way they could when she looked so beautiful to him that he felt stunned. There had been a sadness in her tone with the statement. Slowly, over the badge, she placed her palm flat down onto it and then slipped her hand over his pectoral muscle, as if moving the badge, stopping to cover his heart, guarding his heart like a treasure. Her breath breezed over him, her eyes down. "It should cover the heart, shield the heart," she wished, with such a longing it landed with an ache.

And in that moment, just a small moment, they _BOTH_ felt her fear, so realized it was already expressed as mourning.

"Julia…" he whispered his plea.

And her eyes rose to meet his.

 _Never would she be able to explain how much she loved him, she knew it then, that it was pointless to try, but she let the strength and glow of that loving bathe her heart_. There was the subtlest of nods, her to him. Then she said, "Not just from bullets and knives and such," her other hand joining in the covering of his heart…

"No?" he asked her.

She exhaled, warm with the promise of truth. Then the tiniest pinch of a smile before she said, "No. There are other dangers… dangers to a man's heart. You are in the fray of it so often, deep in the murkiest, gloomiest, ugliest parts of the world, so that the very drowning-in of it must make a good heart weep…"

And he felt the _weight of knowing she was right_ , and he remembered being wholly disgusted by _Bill Weist's nauseating bigotry and hatred and greed and superiority…_ and then he remembered _that same man, down on his knees begging the universe to spare the love of his life. In the one man, the horrors, but also a husband's profound love for his wife._

 _ **So often, he had found kindness in the darkest of places…**_

There was a shift, seemingly from the other side of his brain, now his memories taking him to the intersection where Mr. Dilbert had been pinned between a wagon and an automobile, the outcome of a planned murder attempt disguised to look like an accident. _"He would die. He knew it. We all knew it…"_ William thought to himself _._ But Mr. Dilbert had not yet told the woman who would carry out his quest for him, ensuring that his most important deed for City Records was done after he was dead, he had not told Mildred Ash that he would die that day… Actually, there was much that Dilton Dilbert had not told Mildred. The words replayed as William stood there, inside of his head reliving his witnessing of the meek, quietly honorable, man opening his dying heart to Mildred, _"I apologize for the poor timing of what I'm about to say… I'm not sure whether saying this now is a kindness…"_ And upon reflection, William thought to himself now, _"There may never have been such kindness."_ And then Dilbert's words carried on inside of William's head, _"But I must confess to loving you… It is the most inopportune time and I do apologize, and I hope you do not feel that you need to reciprocate…"_ And then, so bittersweet, when Mildred had replied _, "No. I loved you as well."_ And then, in the very end, Mildred had worried that Dilton's death was her fault, for she had asked him for his help with her work on the water filtration municipal contract, and his doing so had made him a target for murder. Bravely Dilbert told her _, "We did the right thing, Mildred. That's all that matters. We saved the city and its citizens from a con artist."_ And thus, in those last moments, this couple had shared in knowing that they had lived a meaningful life.And William thought _it was like himself and Julia, these two holding back the darkness to let others live in the light._ And then, just when William was about to let go of the memory, the very, very end reminded, Dilbert's very last words haunting him with what William, himself, had ALMOST lived through, for Dilbert had said _, "I have imagined our courtship so many times. It is almost as if it really happened."_ And then he said _, "I'm ready,"_ and they had pulled the wagon…

 _Somewhere off in the periphery, William was pulled out of the memory._

To ease the weight of it, Julia had shifted to consider his work on the board. In that moment, the words she spoke came straight from her heart. "I can't tell you, William, how much your joining me in this quest of mine has touched me. I have never felt so loved, so cared for, for who I am, for myself, ever in all my life," she told him.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, _for he felt it too._

Their attention back to his board, she considered the written words. _The writing was terribly messy – very unlike him, it was almost childlike._ A thought wondered _if perhaps he had allowed William Jr. to write the words for him, but then she remembered William's injured hand._ Julia gestured towards the board and teased, "Now William, most of the time I can follow your diagrams and such…" and then her mind flashed memories of _some of the more complicated boards he had made – most consisting of a flood of intense mathematical equations splayed about all over the place_. She shrugged a shoulder and added, "Of course, there are times that that amazing brain of yours has left me quite behind in the chalkdust as it were," and she giggled. "Usually the ones with extreme mathematics… like those equations with functions…" she paused, thinking _she should not belittle herself, for Julia Ogden was no math dimwit_. She leaned back softly to touch her back to his chest behind her. "I do prefer my math to be…" and she lifted both hands up towards his blackboard and squeezed the air in imagining, "tangible. I like my math to be tangible, directly connected to the real world, I suppose," she tried to explain.

 _ **Oh, but now it would be William who would tease**_ …

His hands slipped around her from behind, the injured one up over her hip to ride the curve of her waist and pull her closer, the unwrapped hand up to cup and appreciate the heavy plumpness of one of her breasts, luring her lustfully as his thumb explored and enticed at its center. "Like I like my women," he whispered, raspy in her ear.

"Women!" she abruptly turned and questioned him with an eyebrow up.

"You know you are the only woman I have eyes for," he corrected quickly, then tried to win her over with that corner of the mouth wrinkle…

"Do I now," she pushed back. "Let us see…" she said, turning her face back to his board and leaning back, heavy, into him once more, "There was Ettie… Oh, and of course, Sally Pendrick. I do believe you found her to be rather attractive, William. You cannot deny you would have liked to get your hands on her tangible… tangerines…" she giggled at her pun.

"Grapefruits," he corrected, blushing for having said it, behind her. He cleared his throat and elaborated, "I'd say more like grapefruits…"

She turned to gaze into his face, _dumbfounded at the possible discovery of what may have been one of his secret sexual exploits, yet still doubtful, for he was then, as he is still now, the rather buttoned-up William Murdoch…_

She gasped her question, "William!? You didn't…?"

"Not ' **tangibly,** ' exactly," he said. He needed to clear his throat again…

And Julia _fought her urge to smile and to giggle, with all her might, for watching his suffering…_

"More…uh, **visually** , I would say," he gave.

"Visually?" Julia wondered after the statement, "You _**SAW**_ Sally Pendrick's… Oh…" she suddenly gasped out the exclamation, _for the awareness had hit her then!_ **"The painting!"** she gleed at her discovering the truth of it. "The painting Sally Pendrick gave you, and you hung it in your office! William…?!"

He nodded. "She was… err, um," he swallowed, "She was 'posing' for it… when I first met her," he admitted.

She gave him a playful shove. "You swore you believed it was a landscape. Oh…" she shook her head at the memories, "I knew that triangle…" she remembered _him suggesting his explanation for the red shape at the crux of the painting,_ scolding him, "A pyramid…" she shoved him again.

And then they both laughed together. Julia shook her head once more, "A landscape," she wallowed in the deliciousness of the thought.

They quieted, still embraced, Julia in front of him. Their eyes perused the plans chalked out on the blackboard before them. Minds traveled, hers back to his badge and how it should cover his heart. Then a pang of guilt jolted inside of her as she thought of _him helping her – making this marvelous invention – his ULTRAsound, to use to hide her illegal contraceptive study, and the possible dangers their doing so together could lead to._ For his part, William's mind had gone _back to the Weist's. He imagined the two of them down in the cells right now, saying their goodbyes…_

"We're both thinking it …" Julia's voice carried the weight of her thoughts, "So I will say it, our situation in this," she turned to catch his eye, "these two ' **studies** ' of ours…' It's like the Weist's…" she frowned, wanting to apologize for starting it, for bringing them here.

William took one of her curls in his finger and said, "What they did was illegal, Julia…"

"Us too," she quickly reminded.

He sighed, and frowned, and rubbed at his brow. "But ours… We're not murdering anyone…"

"Not exactly," she gave, _thinking that her IUDs blocked implantation of an embryo… But the Church… And his Faith…?_ And Julia decided then, that _William had fought these battles of his already. He had made his decision to join her. She would take solace in that… she would trust him to have been true to himself in making that decision as he did._

William spoke, changing the subject, "I do fear… um, well, I fear you may end up in prison… Maybe even me too, I suppose that's possible." He wrinkled a corner of his mouth admitting to the dread of it. "Me… for helping. That would be like what happened with the Weist's," he concluded. It was too disturbing to follow the thought through to the further consequences, _the first inkling of thinking of the children, and another thought came to drown that one out, an image really, of Dunbar's little caged bird ramming its body against the bars…_

"Julia…?" he asked her, turning to stand facing her, heart to heart. "Mr. Beau Jangles, he uh… he sent me a poem…"

"Oh," she replied. "It touched you?" she wondered.

"It's about a bird trapped in a cage… written by a Negro poet," he began to explain.

"Oh yes, William," she declared. "I know it… Dunbar, I believe… Dunbar is the author. It's called, um…"

"Sympathy," he answered her. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded page from Mr. Beau Jangles' book. He opened the folds and handed it to her.

She read it to him, and he noticed that she became choked up as she shared the words. " _It invokes 'sympathy' in her,"_ he thought to himself, " _Perhaps she feels sympathy for an old man who is a Negro in this cruel and unjust world…_

She finished.

He took the paper back from her. "Mr. Beau Jangles was very taken with you," he told her, as he folded it and put it back inside his pocket.

"Oh," she said, sniffling back the one tear that had manifested enough to threaten to flow down her cheek. She wrinkled a corner of her mouth at him, for she knew in that second, in that mutual look, that truth be told, she was grateful he saw the weepiness she felt. "I only met him the one time, well, except for when he was unconscious in the alleyway on the night of the murder. Remember…?" she asked him, "It was when you were questioning him in the Interrogation Room… and he danced for us."

William rubbed his thumb across her cheek. _He imagined kissing her, healing, luring the slippery saltiness of her caring out of her, tasting its tenderness on his tongue…_

He cleared his throat and said, "I think it was Miss James. That one act… your hiring her, um, it showed him your heart, I think." Then he thought further, "He and Miss James… I suspect they talked quite a lot. Perhaps some about us."

From there, William's brain went on inside his head, unspoken… _Maybe it was Miss James who inspired Mr. Beau Jangles to go to Adelaide, by showing him the beauty and power of what a young Negro woman could be if the world gave her a chance. Maybe that made Beau Jangles think that something beautiful and powerful could come from his helping an abandoned and betrayed young white woman who was out in the harsh world all alone, alone with bearing a murdered Negro man's child…_ And then William remembered that Beau Jangles had written that _he had thought of Ernie Williams as a son_ , and then he remembered _Mr. Beau Jangles' grief over the loss of his dog, and how lonely the man was, still. Beau Jangles had written in his note that he would always dance alone…_ And with that final thought _, William felt that sting of hope, like the hope he had imagined when he envisioned grasping the truth of the fact that the defeated and bloodied caged bird would still sing, and he gave into it, and he told himself that it was as likely as it was not, that Mr. Beau Jangles and Adelaide Weist would pick up together, a sort of family where one was so desperately needed._

William lifted his yes to meet Julia's and he said, "Wherever he ends up, Mr. Beau Jangles will be dancing, of that I'm certain…"

"Why is that?" she asked, already sensing that he was right.

"Because, for Mr. Beau Jangles, to live is to dance," he answered. And then he remembered _the grass… outside, and the firelit torches waiting for them._ He stepped back, and took her hand, lifting it winsomely. "Milady," he bowed a greeting…

"Yes," she whispered her response, revealing to him that she had been captured.

"Julia," he fought against the _sudden emergence of butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, fearing that maybe this idea was really too silly…_ "I've recently obtained tickets to an upcoming ball, um… Well, I wondered if you might be interested in attending with me?" he gushed out the request, "It's um, it's tonight, the… the 'Backyard Barefoot Ball, it's called…" he simply stopped speaking, leaving the invitation hanging there between them, awkwardly, as was true to form.

 _ **Oh, her smile melted straight through to his heart**_. And out of the blue, her mind replayed the _flash of remembering herself standing in the morgue with Dr. Emily Grace, and her confiding in Emily that Detective William Murdoch was surprisingly 'romantic…'_ Even now, she almost giggled with schoolgirl glee.

"Yes, of course," she finally answered him, "That would be most delightful."

"Very good," he bowed to her once more, and he offered her his arm.

"Barefoot?" she asked him as she tucked her arm into his and they began to go.

"Mm," his reply.

" _Yep,"_ she heard herself thinking, " _Stunning, but it's true, Detective William Murdoch is quite romantic…"_

)

By the time William had brought Julia upstairs, and to the sliding backdoor in their dining room, and she gasped so admiringly at the beauty of what he had done for her in preparing their 'Backyard Barefoot Ball,' William noticed that _the sky had become overcast. The stars were gone, or at least now hidden from sight. And that earlier lovely breeze had turned to an occasional ominous gust, in between the bursts, the air was left humid and lush…_ He wondered, _if she would be cold..._

Julia leaned a hand to his shoulder for balance, and she began to remove her shoes.

Then, standing barefoot together, William placed the phonograph needle to the end of the record disk, _knowing this would give them more time than placing it at the start, thus enabling them the chance to get out into the circle of firelit torches on the grass, before the music began._

Julia shook her head to herself as she looked on, and William put this particular invention of his to use, _this one a mechanism that reset the needle after the record was through, allowing the song to play over and over again. He was truly astounding… this man of hers._

He took her hand and led her out onto the soft, plush, grass. _So quiet… not even the stridulations of the crickets touched the ear, perhaps because they had taken cover._ Just then, a gust of wind blew through them, sweeping up her skirts, wafting the dangling curls at the edges of her face…

The music began, and William opened his arms to begin.

 _Oh, so beautiful_ , she giggled…

And, she stepped closer to him and she told, "I do believe that we will never, ever, start a dance together, detective, without my mind flashing me the image of that very first time… at Professor Oratano's Dance Studio, when you ' _ **assumed your position…'"**_

In the deliciously flickering torchlight, he scowled, and she giggled…

"And then," she said, expanding her tale, "Into the arms of such a stiff and rigid man, I stepped." She paused to note, "Those arms…they are not so rigid anymore," her voice warm in his ear, and they began the soft, waltzing movement, heart much closer to heart than the standards of dancing that had been prescribed by Professor Oratano.

"No," he gave her, "Not since loving you."

 _ **The words meant more than they said, for we do change from loving and from being loved, especially as completely and sincerely and passionately as these two have loved each other.**_

Off in the distance, a rumbling roll of thunder resonated deeply, deeply, down into the very marrow of their bones. ' _A storm was coming,'_ the air whispered it, charged with that silent crackle of what was sure to come, now heavy in the silence, the stillness, the quiet before the storm.

William remembered, telling her the thought as it came, "Some believe it is the dance that brings on the storm."

"Shall we weather it together then, you and I," Julia summoned.

There was a bolt, a flicker, _still far off,_ for the breath paused, held, waited, for the inevitable rippling grumbles of thunder to come.

Inside of his head, _William remembered watching Julia sway up above him in the basket of her enormous, colorful balloon, inviting him to go with her to wherever the wind would take them. He had never regretted that leap..._

 _Faint tapping sounds drummed, no rhythm to them yet, alerting to the left, and behind… and up on the roof_ , as raindrops began to fall, with splatters and splats all around. Cold, when they landed, huge and wet, on their bodies, and William pulled back, preparing to run with her to cover…

But she tugged him back into her arms. "Dance with me William. Dance with me. It is only rain," she whispered.

He heard his own voice in his head, saw the misspelled words, _"flote her world…"_

And he kissed her then, barefoot together out on the grass, as they swayed and they rocked, and as the sky yielded to the thunder and it began to downpour, bathing them with the wet mingling of their tastes, so perfectly delicious, melding with the sweetness of the rain.

They were together, they were loved, loved in the most powerful way there is, each for who they are in their deepest, truest selves, and they were grateful, grateful, to be alive, come what may.

And so it was that night, when William floated Julia's world, and the two danced as the two lived – bold and brave and true, for it was as Mr. Beau Jangles had brought to light in the short time that they had known him…

' _ **Two live is two dance,'**_ _despite storm clouds a-rumbling._

)) ((

The birthday of the famous tap-dancer, Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, just passed – May 25, 1878. The famous song, "Mr. Bojangles," was written by Jerry Jeff Walker, and inspired much of this story.

Bert _(rather than Ernie)_ Williams was also a very famous Negro performer at the same time as that of Mr. Bojangles Robinson. He mostly performed as a comedian wearing blackface makeup. He is said to have felt that wearing the demeaning makeup allowed him to feel in character.

The bodies of victims burned in extremely hot fires take on a 'pugilistic' (boxer-like) stance. The fingerprints of these victims can be preserved inside the curled-up fists.

I have long imagined that Julia Ogden's wealthy upbringing would have exposed her to snooker playing, and that her intimate knowledge of the talents and inspirations of her beloved William Henry Murdoch would have led her to encourage him to play billiards. Jim Croce's famous song, "Don't Mess Around with Jim" subconsciously, and then consciously, stirred the idea to have William go undercover as the mild-mannered pool-shark and underdog hero, Slim.

The first published research study on inserted intrauterine devices (IUDs) was done by Dr. Richard Richter in Germany in 1909.

The first ultrasound machine used to 'see' inside of the body was employed in the 1940s. First in Austria, when Karl Dussik and his brother attempted to locate brain tumors by measuring the transmission of the ultrasound beams through the skull. Later in the same decade, George Ludwig used ultrasound to detect gallstones in Maryland.

Ironically, it was a man named James Murdock who invented the in-place exercise swimming pool. It was his father, John Murdock, who thought up the idea of making an exercise pool by using a hydraulic motor to power propellers at the ends of a small pool to make a current to swim in. James made the idea a reality in 1988.

And finally, this story was written as a prequel to the story, "Thunderstorms." It was intended to explain how 'Toronto's Favorite Couple' got to where they were found in 1912 for that story to unfold.

 _ **And remember – your review inspires more than you know.**_


End file.
